Phoenix From The Ice
by Bamboo Pug
Summary: AU. A Warrior leaves his family to join Menethil to Northrend. He returns to Azeroth as a Forsaken without the memory of his former life. As events unfold, he is forced to remember and come to terms with meeting a family he has left behind.
1. A Memory Once A Lifetime Ago

_A Memory Once A Lifetime Ago_

"Do you really have to go Papa?"

If it wasn't for the the smallness of his daughter's angelic voice that made her father turn to look down at her then it was most certainly the tones of love, adoration and fear that did. His face broke into a soft, loving smile as he dropped to his knees with his arms outstretched towards her. The soft and healthy green grass cushioned his descent as Aretha hurled herself into her father's embrace and hugged him hard as if nothing would dare tear them apart.

"Yes, my daughter, I'm afraid so," he said softly, he was always honest with his wife and children knowing it would help them prepare for whatever came after, regardless whether it foretold good or evil. "You have to be strong now for you mother, you hear me, sweetheart?" he spoke reassuringly as they hugged for life itself. By the light, he mused, she had his strength for all the grip she was using. Part of him wanted to stay and see it through with his family, the other felt the call to duty and knew it was expected of him to take to arms as a warrior. He pulled away gently and smiled back at her, fixing the stray strands of her auburn hair in a gentle caress. She pouted before fixing the errant black lock on his forehead. He chuckled softly, "No matter where I am, my heart is always with you all,"

"Theodred darling, it is almost time," his wife reminded him gently, their two sons flanking both her sides with proud but worried expressions. Theodred looked up at his beautiful wife, remembering the day he had met her as if it were yesterday. She wore the same curious caring expression she had worn then. Gloria was a priest of the light, always nurturing and caring for those less fortunate. He had been severely injured in the battle against the forces of the New Horde and it was she who had tended to them. He was very glad to have wooed her so and the look he sent her now spoke of his devout love to her and his family.

He looked back to find Aretha fiddling with the straps to his shoulder-guards as if trying to tighten them further before she suddenly ran back in the house. He blinked, somewhat surprised by this and he could tell Gloria was about to call her back. Before she could do so, Aretha had returned with something in her hands with a happy knowing smile gracing her dainty features and presented something in her hands for him to see.

"Take it with you, daddy! It'll give you luck!" she beamed, pressing the small jade figurine into his large hand with her tiny one. He peered at it and nodded before hesitating. He then reached to the back of his neck and released the clip where the necklace he always wore. It was a gift from Gloria and he would be sore to lose it. He fastened it round his daughter's neck and looked at her, holding the pendant in gloved fingers as he spoke, "Your mother gave me this as a testament to her love. Since I could not bear to lose such a gift, I am entrusting you Aretha to look after it in my stead. Keep it with you always. Think you can do that for me?"

Aretha nodded before hugging him once again scared of what might or could happen. It seemed like no more games could be played, an end to fun and no cares in the world. Gloria could only watch him with her daughter, smiling with pride. She had chosen a good man in Theodred, he loved his family and friends and was always helpful in whatever way possible. It was her turn to be tightly embraced and she hugged and kissed her husband with all the vigour she had before blessing him.

"I shall pray for you, my love. I shall pray to the light that you come home safe and sound," she said holding his hands close to her heart but it was not long before a call for him to come was heard. He glanced to his comrade and nodded, gesturing for a little more time. He kissed Gloria and it was such a kiss to be remembered and that alone would help him to keep his humanity whilst away in Northrend. He looked at Bertie and Andrew, "Look after your mother and sister, my sons. You're the men of the house now, their safety lies with you," he breathed and they took no shame in hugging him back, one to either side of him. Theodred smiled before saying his final goodbyes and swung himself into the saddle of his waiting black destrier. The stallion shifted and snickered beneath him and Theodred pulled on the reins slightly in an effort to try and calm the spirited but loyal beast. He looked at his family for one last time, smiling with as much reassurance as he could muster before he nudged the horse's belly with his heels and the destrier started forth, turning for the other man.

Gloria watched as her husband left for the fleet that Arthas was taking with him to Northrend in his bid to find and kill Mal'ganis. She had heard rumours about what had happened at Stratholme and her heart she wept. Not just for the unfortunate souls who lived there but more for the sister she knew to be living there in the time Arthas had slain them all. At first, she had wanted Theodred to remain behind saying that Arthas's fight wasn't his and it wasn't just. That would have been most selfish of her to keep him from what was his duty. The light had left Arthas, she knew that much. However, she had understood his sense of duty when she had married him and knew it wouldn't have been of much use in convincing him otherwise.

"When will he be coming back, mama?" Andrew asked also gazing in the direction his father had left.

"Soon, I hope. Come, it is almost luncheon," she said needing a distraction from her worried mind. They nodded and Aretha held her mother's hand as they walked back to their homestead all the while praying her husband would survive and come back to them.


	2. To The Frozen North

_To The Frozen North_

He had been to cold places before such as the likes of the Dwarven realm but Dun Morogh was nowhere near as cold as these reaches of merciless Northrend and they weren't even in the far reaches of the continent yet as it was. The Daggercap Bay coastline was filled with shore crabs that had scuttled away with the new activity that bustled around the place and he could hear guttering lows from the native shoveltusk in the woody tundra beyond.

"Would've stayed a' home if I knew it'd be this damn cold," Darren muttered next to him, pulling his cloak tighter around his frame as he watched others go about setting up camp. Darren was younger in years than Theodred by a good five years but the two had become the best of friends none the less. Theodred knew he could depend and rely on Darren to watch his back and vice versa. However, he was not watching where Darren had set his eyes to but rather on the form of Prince Menethil. The way that Arthas carried himself troubled Theodred distinctly these days. Something was not right with the man and what had happened at Stratholme was proof of that.

The warrior was made of good merit and was in a similar mindset to Tirion and Uther. He had thought about becoming a paladin of the light but he knew practically that he had no patience for long study, prayers or meditations that were very much part of a paladin's life. But had be been a paladin, he was sure he would have suspicions about whether this trip was indeed righteous at all. He had spoken with the other men about what had happened back in Stratholme and what he heard was a little shocking. He knew Arthas cared a lot for his subjects and that in itself was commendable but slaughtering them all on an 'if' as if it was a certainty? He wasn't so sure but they would never know and now they had to find some dreadlord by the name of Mal'ganis.

All Theodred wanted right now was to leave this frozen continent and go home to his waiting family where he belonged.

Course, it was not long before the regiment he and Darren were assigned to was called by Captain Falric and it seemed that Arthas had found some company. He learned quickly that it was none other than the brother to the Dwarven king, Muradin Bronzebeard. He had never met the dwarf but he had respect for him all the same. It seemed they were off to go find some legendary runeblade that Arthas believed would turn the fight against Mal'ganis to their favour. Still, the warrior had doubts.

"What's up with you, Marshall?"

Marshall glanced up blinking from his sea of thoughts and noted it was Falric who had caught him, "Sorry Sir, won't happen again," he said softly and the man nodded.

"Come on, lad. We gotta get our allies here situated," the Captain replied and Theodred was glad for the distraction it provided him. They worked with the help of the Dwarves who had remained behind whilst Arthas, Muradin and number of other men had gone to find what they were looking for. It was a long time of making sure the barricades were in place and holding as undead pelt on their flanks. The others gave Theodred room to move as the warrior sliced and diced with his mace and sword. The things stank horribly as they fell and it was all that he could do to not wrinkle his nose with disgust. They eventually hacked through them all and the place quietened tenfold save for the birds in the air and the bleats of nearby from frightened shoveltusk.

Theodred pulled a cloth from a bag attached to his belt and wiped his face clear of the black ichor that passed for scourge blood as Arthas returned. He noted that Muradin was trundling behind with a less than happy expression on his face and it seemed to be solely directed at Arthas. Theodred frowned feeling that something was not right, was that smoke he smelt?

"By Terenas's crown, the ships!" came a cry and the men turned to see the ships they had used to get to Northrend completely bathed in raging fires and anguish shot through them all to the very last man. How were they supposed to get back home now? Without the ships to take them back, how was he to see his family again? This brought about a silent anger in Theodred who lived for his family, fought for his family and his family was always what came first in his life. It was not long before the men searched for something to blame and Menethil seemed to know exactly what.

"Quickly, my warriors!" Arthas cried, "These murderous creatures have burned our ships and robbed you of your way home! Slay them all in the name of Lordaeron!" and Theodred watched as Arthas led the charge with the men following with their own cries of anguish. It turned out to be a very bleak day as it wore on. The men returned and Muradin looked even more sour but Thodred could hardly care. He was tired and sore from what had happened today. They, he, should never have come. All the men wanted now was a nice hot meal and sleep. It wasn't long however until Muradin and Arthas went off leaving Captain Falric in charge only for Arthas to return sans Bronzebeard some time later with the mystical runeblade in one hand and a somber expression to a worn face. Hearing of the dwarf's death was a shock to all the dwarves staying with them and Theodred glanced to Baelgun, noting the narrowed eyes and felt the dwarf knew something ill was afoot. And then to see the dreadlord himself appear at Arthas' taunt was a shock to see. No one had expected Mal'Ganis to actually show up or offer himself so freely.

It seemed that like the undead that Arthas was quick to slaughter, Frostmourne was just as eager to battle and slice through the demon with total ease. It stunned not just Falric but everyone else too. Even Theodred could see that Prince Menethil had changed, more so than after what had happened at Stratholme but this...? This was not their beloved Prince anymore, that much was for certain. Thodred shuddered to think what Uther would think of it all if he came to learn of it, which the favoured Paladin would definitely be dismayed to learn of.

Events then happened so quickly that even it was a buzz in the warrior's mind. The return to Lordaeron, the murder of Terenas and the metamorphosis of Arthas that not many had foreseen when he had acquired the cursed runeblade, Frostmourne. It was a nightmare he could not escape from and he could only remember his own end being violent. He had time to defend himself but it seemed he could not outlast the one to slay him. As he lay dying in fresh green grass and gentle breeze, his family were close on his mind and were consequently his last thought before he died.

"Light, protect them," he murmured painfully before his battered body stilled. It seemed even then that fate would be unkind as he was brought back to a torture of undeath. A mindless existence where he had no control whatsoever. Even thinking was too difficult a task. In time, history forgot the little people such as Theodred and Lordaeron fell to ruin after the the death of King Terenas. It was a long time before the walls saw movement again never mind old faces. Events occurred where Sylvanas, the Banshee Queen who always hated Arthas with every fibre of her being, revolted against the Lich King's control. In the end, there was little that Arthas could do to put Sylvanas and her Forsaken back in place and in their time of need, the freed undead took the ruins of Lordaeron's former glory as their own to call home.

They built up the sewers and dungeons of the place and it was not long before a new name rose from the ruins; Undercity. A highly appropriate name for a people of whom no one really liked but then the Forsaken knew this best of all and had only themselves to trust. However, it was soon realised that the Forsaken, a new race in themselves, could not fight Arthas alone. It was with hardship that they won a place in Thrall's New Horde. Relations remained tenuous as the Forsaken made Tirisfal Glades their own with Deathknell the designated area for bringing back more Forsaken into their numbers. This is where Theodred had first awoken with a Val'kyr being the first thing he had seen. It was while before he firmly believed this was not Northrend and that he had a new life, albeit a dead existence. He returned to his old calling as a warrior, the skills embedded in his memory and came easily. He rose through the ranks well but otherwise kept much to himself.

Despite being happy with his existence, he still wondered what he had left behind.


	3. On The Road To The Past

_On the Road to the Past_

He had been gone for so long since he was reputed to have last stood in the small town south of Lordaeron, of which now lay in ruins. It had been a happier place before the scourge had struck and the consequential takeover by Windrunner's Forsaken. Or at least that was what Sokaron had been told by the local Deathstalker's that maintained their guard round the town exits. With his memories of his life before death seriously impaired to the point of him only knowing that he had been a warrior and a blacksmith, he had been given a new identity so that others could say a name rather than him trying to remember it. He didn't really want to find out, in truth he was afraid of what he might find and living the life of a member of a hated faction seemed a lot more simple.

He wore mostly the same battle worn armour he had worn when he had been slain save for a belt and boots, of which he had to replace since they had fallen off his now lank frame entirely. He had gotten off lightly as far as the state of himself was concerned. The only thing of concern were the straps that held his face and jaw in place. His jawbone was still attached only by sinews and lank strips of muscle that still allowed him to talk. Still, he had to bear the straps to make sure he didn't lose his jawbone. The Forsaken that weren't as lucky to keep their jaw often led silent roles in their unlife, typically assassins or unquestioning bodyguards.

He rasped slightly as he stood between building not far from the stables. Of course, he no longer breathed air... it was purely an automatic act of his old human self. Some tried to discard their old human emotions, hiding behind their unlife like the rest of their brethren. Sokaron was similar but he wasn't bothered to hide emotion as well as a rogue might. He was a warrior... he'd be damned further if he couldn't use his anger, his rage to his advantage. It was very much a force to be reckoned with. He lifted a gnarly bony hand and scratched his lank mop of black hair that parted down the middle and an errant lock fell forth.

"Lost?"

Sokaron turned and would have narrowed his eyelids if he had any left at the stranger who was near enough dressed like himself with the distinct difference that his armour consisted of rusted mail, whereas Sokaron wore plate. The Forsaken before him was that of a hunter, a relatively new concept in the world of the Forsaken since they had no need to hunt food but in recent years there had been a steady rise. Sokaron knew it more out of the need to trade and hunters tended to be natural leatherworkers. This one had a diseased wolf that looked just as decrepit as its hunched owner.

"No... passing through on to Undercity," he said in return, his voice husky and worn down. The hunter nodded slightly before stretching out his frame with a broken motion before beckoning the warrior.

"I'll tag along, if you don't mind. Going that way myself," he replied and Sokaron belatedly realised the man only had the one eye. Instead of a second eye, he had some sort of engineering eyepiece contraption. Sokaron nodded and explained he was going to walk... it was not that far and negotiating the platforms of Undercity on a warhorse was as good as impossible. The hunter shrugged and then muttered before the warrior saw the faint artistic lines of a striped cat and the hunter grinned in a giddy. "Pack," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the word, Sokaron never knew the difference. The signs both looked exactly the same but he nodded anyway.

They both got to the Ruins of Lordaeron much more quickly than Sokaron could get there by his own devices but the hunter was nice enough to change his aspect once they were inside. He could hear a soft chant in the background and he heard the wolf snarl in protest.

"What's his problem?" Sokaron asked, peering at the diseased black-furred animal. The hunter looked at it and then to him and shrugged, "You got me," he said blankly before they parted ways and Sokaron headed off to see the one person to have requested him here. For a warrior that was fast getting a reputation for success through unemotional states, you would have thought he would have had his own warhorse. Indeed he did once but he had lost the damned thing to a human hunter who thought they could steal the thing and then killed it out of spite when Sokaron rightly made protest. In return, Sokaron had killed both pets she had sent at him before taking a hint at leaving him alone. It was better that way tactically then draw more hate out of the Alliance. Some could be vindictive bastards.

He reached the Royal Chambers of their Dark Lady. Despite being a banshee, her original body that she now resided in was still as beautiful as she had been before the fall of the Sunwell.

"Sokaron, I have heard much about you. You're more than decent for a warrior, I hear," she said, her tones echoed and somewhat eerie but he knelt on one knee before her all the same. She was the reason they had been freed. He owed her as much as the next rotting man in line for her favours.

"You are most gracious, milady," he replied, ignoring the steady stares of the others in the chamber, "I am ready to serve."

"Serve you shall," Sylvanas said fondly, "There have been reports of disturbances at Agamand Hills. I have chosen you to see to it and make sure there are no more of the Lich King's wretched undead there. Alean Hawkins will have coin for you, it will cover what needs you require," she said peering at him with her all too red eyes. "Don't disappoint me, Sokaron."

"I will not, milady," Sokaron returned with the equal fondness as she had shown him. She dismissed him and he got his funds from the Deathstalker, Hawkins. It took a while to get what supplies he needed from the various supplies within Undercity and he made a stop at Brill to buy himself a new warhorse. The ochre variant suited him just perfectly and the dead creature whinnied as if looking forward to the prospect of finally leaving the stables. It seemed to be high spirited in death as it might have been in life but that suited him too. He found that horses with no personality of their own made for dull journeys.

With supplies all set, he was about to head off when a whistle and a familiar looking diseased hound stopped him in his tracks. His warhorse pawed the ground, snorting at the wolf blocking his path. What now, Sokaron mused with irritation. His mission was important to have the Dark Lady burden him with it.

"I see you're heading out,"

That same hunter from before and Sokaron raised a brow noting that the one-eyed undead had company this time in the form of a rather bored looking Blood Elf strongly clad in what looked to be plate. The hunter called his pet back now that he had the warrior's attention.

"Yes, and I must not delay," he replied carefully wondering what on the Dark Lady's bow he wanted.

"The grapevine says you're headed for Agamand Hills. Dangerous place of late, I've done a little scouting. You could use the help, I think. My friend here is a healer,"

This made Sokaron hesitate. The hunter could be wrong but then he could also be right and a healer would not go unwelcome. He paused a few moments more before he shifted in the saddle, "If you can keep up, then you are free to accompany me. I am Sokaron,"

"Sokaron? I have heard of you," the Blood Elf finally spoke before calling his charger to him. The armoured horse whinnied as the Paladin mounted him, "I am Faranor Thorongil."

"Another famous one, Faranor? How come I never hear of them?" the hunter muttered as he got on his own warhorse. "Jonathan Deaver, at your service. This here is Kara," he pointed a bony finger at the wolf who scratched her ear with relish. Sokaron merely nodded before encouraging his warhorse forward and the other two fell into pace either side of him as they all headed to Agamand Hill.

Sokaron had half hoped there would be nothing there when they arrived. It seemed the mindless undead of the scourge had other ideas. He peered as he saw one of the scourge wander back and forth as if patrolling a patch of grass from intruders, which couldn't be further from the truth really.

"I spoke to someone in the tavern in Brill before. Said the whole Agamand family had been cursed and now was wandering their old haunts. Said they should be put to rest," Jonathan muttered, as he notched an arrow to a delicate looking bow. They had tied their horses a little further back to not gain unwarranted attention.

Sokaron nodded, "Then we shall give them their rest," he replied darkly, loosening his battle axes from his back. They were both two handers but the warrior knew them both and he knew them well enough to keep balance of them. He charged at the first of the Agamand family that they killed that day, yelling an insult at his target. He heard the snarling charge of Jonathan's wolf and he felt refreshed from the Blood Elf's heals every now and again throughout the day. They continued on like this, clearing the hills from all the scourge that had been left behind when Arthas had been forced back to Northrend.

"We have one house left to clear!" Jonathan said as he busied himself with quickly healing his wolf and gained an eye roll from the paladin before the elf helped him out. Sokaron nodded and moved towards the homestead in front of him. Had he had kept his memory, he would have known this place instantly, but such as the trauma of his death, he strode forth without recognition with Faranor and Jonathan not far behind him and all were ready for unwarranted surprises.

Sokaron checked everywhere but found no scourge lurking in the shadows. He entered a smaller room, one made for a young girl if the decaying décor was any indication. He did not know why he felt drawn to the bedside cabinet but his feet moved towards it nonetheless. He frowned as he looked at the jade figurine of a small horse. He picked it up and peered at it closely. Without so much as a warning, his mind chose then to assault him with a long forgotten memory. He saw himself when he was human, looking happy and content as any man could be in the world. Laughing freely as a young child with bright auburn hair flowing around her as she danced round him. The man lifted her and she giggled. Before the memory passed, he heard a woman's voice calling out to the man from the doorway to the girl's bedroom, repeating the same word with love and affection.

"_Theodred!"_

He sat on the ageing bed, his muscles refusing to hold him up under the weight of the two axes staring blankly at the jade figurine in his clawed hands. A creak of the floorboard told him he wasn't alone but he didn't look up to see who it was. The memory seemed so incredibly important, to him most of all and he knew that he had known the girl at one point. He must of done. Why else would his mind unlock that memory at the sight and touch of the jade figure.

"Sokaron?" the richness and self imposed arrogance to the voice made it clearly Faranor's. All Forsaken voices tended to be in various degrees of rasps. "There is nothing here,"

"There used to be," he murmured, still trying to work it out as he leant his head on his hand, handing the figure in the forefinger and thumb of the other. Faranor peered at it but it meant nothing to him though he knew the Night Elves tended to have a lot of the things.

"You know this place?" he asked looking to the Forsaken man, noting how vulnerable the warrior looked for the first time the paladin had seen him since meeting him. He wondered why Sokaron would know this place... and then realised that just maybe...

"What do you remember from your life, Sokaron?"

"Nothing. I know how to fight. I know that I am a more than decent blacksmith. It's all I know. And yet, I just had this memory of a girl that felt as familiar to me... like I should have known who she was immediately," Sokaron replied, his voice even, emotionless.

Faranor nodded solemnly his long ears twitching as he could hear the sounds of Jonathan's pet outside, "And your death traumatic?" Sokaron only shrugged, he couldn't remember that either. "Perhaps your mind has healed enough for it to feel that you are ready to see your life before death,"

"What of the girl? Who is she? Why do I feel I know her so well but can't reach the reason?" Sokaron burst out, his skin flaking slightly and he sighed, pushing the bonds that held his face together back in to place.

"Patience, Sokaron. The answers will come in time," he said before adjusting his shoulders. "Come, we've cleared the place. There is no reason to remain behind or I fear Jonathan will kill every single critter he can find," he said with faint annoyance.

"How'd you pair up with him anyway?" Sokaron asked, curious before pocketing the jade figure. He didn't feel like leaving it here, not when it had induced such a memory from what was clearly his past. He wasn't even sure at this moment in time that he even wanted to remember his past.


	4. Between Daughter and Duty

_Between daughter and duty_

"I don't really know... but you can't exactly get rid of him either," Faranor replied as he helped the Forsaken man to get up from the moth eaten sheets. Whilst he spoke with the arrogance and self importance of most Blood Elf men, Faranor was more aware of other people's problems than that of his own. He could see the figure Sokaron now held had brought on a memory so deep and important he doubted it would go away any time soon. He watched as Sokaron went to put the figure back on the side and he rested his hand on the warrior's shoulder, "Take it with you. It's highly possible this used to be your home in life,"

Sokaron looked back at the elf, searching the bright green orbs that seemed to hold nothing but reassurance and strangely, comfort. He nodded and pocketed the jade figure into one of the bags attached to his belt before joining Faranor out of the building. They found Jonathan sitting outside giving Kara a belly rub.

"Is that even healthy?" Faranor muttered at the other undead and Jonathan grinned lopsidedly before picking himself off the ground as the others joined him. "Kara did find this though, quite pretty too, if I must say," He extended his hand towards Sokaron who took the picture. It was a small painting, a little chewed no thanks to the diseased wolf but he could still make out the faces smiling back at him from the picture. Sokaron frowned, distinctly troubled by what his undead mind was relaying back to him.

"Sokaron?" Faranor asked, seeing that something was going through the warrior's mind.

"This man... is me," he said with a slight hint of displaced emotion as he pointed a bony finger to the man smiling in the frame. Jonathan leaned over to look and then peered back and forth just to check.

"Resemblance is uncanny... you mean you came from here?" Jonathan said, peering around at the farmsteads with a curious gaze that held no recognition for himself.

"Before, he regained a memory... it is clear to me Sokaron, this used to be your family. You did speak of a little girl of whom you felt you should have known without shadow of a doubt," Faranor said looking at the smiling girl in the picture. She looked like her mother in the frame and knew the man had a good taste in women in his life before undeath. But unlike her mother, she seemed to have, or would have, the high cheek bone structure that Sokaron bore, which were more prominent in their undead state with dried skin right next to the bone.

"Why now? They have no need of me... I am forsaken. Why does this bother me now?" he sighed and threw the frame to the floor. This rising emotion was something he had not known since life, and he found he didn't want to know it. Yet, it bothered him on a serious personal level that was hard to ignore. He walked back to where they had left their mounts, the paladin's charger whinnying slightly at the fresh scent of walking death. The two warhorses remained indifferent but Sokaron's responded to the man's head stroke with a soft appreciative whinny that was almost reassuring to the warrior.

Faranor looked after the warrior as he moved away and frowned in thought. There was something dire unravelling in the undead's mind, that much Faranor knew and perhaps it was a cry for help, though Sokaron would probably never openly admit it. He blinked as he peered at Jonathan who had taken to tugging hard on the paladin's arm to get the elf's attention after picking up the painting that had been left to the floor.

"You're not thinking what I dread you're thinking are you? Sylvanas won't like it," Jonathan whined, his facial muscles tensing slightly in the way only the blood elf could recognise from the years he had known the hunter. Faranor's and Jonathan's friendship was that of a love-hate kind and neither of them quite knew how it came to be. But it was clear it had come to the point where one could rag on the arm of the other without too much hassle.

"What happens to the undead when something conflicts them at their heart, Jonathan?" he asked before looking down at the other. Faranor, being what he was, stood a good two heads and a half over the hunched hunter next to him.

"Don't play that one on me, Fara! No fair!"

"It is a question,"

Jonathan snorted before tossing his pet a scrap of meat, which the wolf guzzled greedily and too possessively for Faranor's liking. "All sorts of things, and none of them useful to the Dark Lady,"

"Dark Lady everything," Faranor moaned, shaking his head but he had said it so many times now in the tones he used that Jonathan made no offended comment. The blood elf glanced upwards as he heard birds calling from their roosts in the trees and he sighed before he continued, "A mind unravelling with such things can cause major problems. It is important he does not lose focus. I imagine his loyalties may become confused through no fault of his own,"

"Faranor... every Forsaken is loyal to our plight and cause,"

"Putress being the exception," Faranor interrupted coldly before taking the frame from Jonathan's gnarled fingers. "What he did at the Wrathgate is inexcusable!"

"Don't we know it? Things have gotten harder since then. The rest of the Horde and the Alliance continue to remind us of it, they blame the Forsaken... not the one man and his rotten band. Lady Sylvanas wasn't best pleased by it," Jonathan replied, tossing another slab of meat to the decaying wolf. "And now that Garrosh is Warchief..."

"Acting Warchief,"

"Eh." Jonathan shrugged dismissively, "He's as good as right now. Anyway, he is very distrusting of us, and hounds Sylvanas with that pet of his,"

"You cannot deny Sylvanas has her own agenda, Jon. No one denies she has had a rough life and a rough undeath in light of Arthas' wrongdoings but I sense there is much trouble to be had with Garrosh and Sylvanas. And Menethil's dark necromancers..."

"Who probably answered more to Kel'thuzad more than the Lich King,"

"Hmhm, they were behind Sokaron's rebirth as undead..." the Blood Elf shrugged slightly before following the route Sokaron had taken. Jonathan scowled but followed the other as they reached where Sokaron was waiting. "Sokaron, might be an idea to keep a hold of this," Faranor said lifting the frame. The warrior scowled deeply before mounting his warhorse and shook his head.

"I am dead. What family I had... they have no use for me anymore, probably only to have my head," he turned his warhorse away and headed back to the Ruins of Lordaeron. Faranor wrinkled his nose but put the frame in his saddlebags before mounting his unruly destrier.

"You know that he is right there, Faranor. If I know you, you'd have him meet his family but what if they're not undead. What if they still live and breathe amongst the Alliance. They wouldn't allow him to simply walk into Stormwind's gate untarnished. You know that."

"We'll see... it all depends on how his head unravels," Faranor sighed before nudging the horse's belly with his heels. The Thelassian steed whinnied but started forth as Jonathan's warhorse pulled alongside to follow the ochre clad horse before them. Faranor was not sure why he felt so concerned with the warrior's past, perhaps more than he should be interested or perhaps more concerned about the flashbacks than Sokaron himself appeared to be. Either way, the paladin known to the Argent Crusade would stick with the warrior for a while longer.

They arrived back in the Undercity an hour or so later after leaving their mounts back in the stables in Brill. Jonathan had opted to wait for them in Brill whilst Faranor remained with Sokaron, who didn't seem too impressed with the blood elf as it was. But then, Faranor noted, Sokaron was not one to show much in the way of emotion. If anything, he seemed almost lacking but Faranor knew better if what had happened back at the farmsteads was of any indication.

"Are you certain you want to come with me?" Sokaron asked sounding rather bored scratching his jawline with a bony finger.

"I would not be here otherwise," the Sin'dorei replied earnestly and so, they turned for the royal quarters, paused only by her elite guard of deathstalkers. Once they were sure of his intentions, they continued on till they were met by Sylvanas herself.

"I hear the Agamand Hills are at rest at last, Sokaron. I would let you go on your travels again if it weren't for the Horde. You are to report to Grommash Hold in Orgrimmar. Those orcs will not tell me of what they plan for you but it seems your skills as a warrior has reached the ears of Warchief Thrall," she said sounding very much disgusted. Whilst Thrall had let them join the Horde, there was no love lost between Forsaken and Orc. Orc didn't favour the living dead whatsoever but as things stood, the Horde needed all the allies it could get.


	5. We Five Of Lost And Found

_We Five of Lost and Found_

Sokaron was not sure what to make of why the Warchief wanted him nor did he care. Their Dark Lady wished him to go to him so he would obey. He was but a simple soldier in death. He had some feeling or faint recollection that in life, he was somewhat more complex in his thinking but that life was past and lost to him. Yet, he could not shake the flashbacks and feeling that he had indeed been something more in life than he was ever in death. He sighed and shook his head as he headed up the rickety steps of the zeppelin tower carefully leading his warhorse behind him. The undead horse snickered shrilly as if to protesting the elevation her master was taking her.

In tow was the holy paladin Faranor who watched the Forsaken warrior with a frown of heavy concern. His charger plodding silently behind him as usual. It was the patient constant that the blood elf was highly grateful for, though he wasn't sure if the horse had any visible sign of a personality. Jonathan's warhorse however was just like its rider, whinnying and snorting constantly. Faranor Thorongil was a man of great thought, he was a thinker but in contrast, Jonathan was quite the untactful chatterbox.

"So what do you think the 'mighty' Warchief will task him with, Fara,"

"I do not know, Jonathan," he replied.

"Do you think he will let us join him?" Jonathen replied, looking at Sokaron in front of them. Sokaron had not given any indication of either joining in the discussion or even having heard them. Faranor broke his gaze and peered at the other Forsaken.

"Why the curiosity?" he asked, in the time that he had known the hunter, he knew the man was quite lazy even for his talkative manners. He didn't understand what interest the warrior had wrought into Deaver.

"Not every day you bump into a guy with a history he can't remember, and he's getting more famous as time goes by,"

"Not that famous," Faranor reasoned, he doubted Sokaron would reach quite the same levels as say Thrall or Sylvanas herself. There were also other warriors making names for themselves of late, Garrosh Hellscream for starters in Northrend. Faranor knew that Garrosh was likely to have more eyes watching him than Sokaron would have. Perhaps Sokaron knew this and used it in his favour.

"Come off it, Fara. You spoil everything," Jonathan whined and Faranor smirked softly.

"But you enjoy it anyway," with that, Jonathan grumbled as they all reached the platform for Orgrimmar and he peered as he heard a rough voice clear his throat. It belonged to a goblin wearing grubby clothes and looked like he needed several shaves.

"It's ten gold to take the Zeppelin, friends, fifteen with your horses," he said with a crooked smile. Sokaron sighed slightly fixing the goblin with a hard stare that did not seem in want of travel.

"That is extortion I will not suffer, master Goblin," Sokaron rasped, his tones baring a note of icy reproach, "We shall pay you nine gold, and that'll be the end of the matter."

The goblin gave him a look as if he was about to try and haggle with the stoic Forsaken but seemed to think better of it and nodded. Sokaron gave a return nod before handing the goblin his nine gold and boarded the zeppelin taking care of his horse. The others followed suit and got their mounts situated before they all headed below deck to rest and for Faranor to have his evening meal. Being already dead, food wasn't much of a necessity for them. They did eat occasionally, but it only renewed what was broken after death.

Faranor never really understood the complexities of the undead. They were technically against everything he stood for as a paladin. There was a lot in death he had to accept to work with rather than working against it. After all, the Forsaken had committed themselves to getting rid of Arthas. Wasn't that enough to sate all of the Horde's needs?

The trip to Orgrimmar took a week in total to complete and settled at the tower to the sounds of squealing boars, the grunt of local peons and the odd shrill call of a vulture in the sky as they emerged from the passenger quarters. Sokaron found the air quite dry and without life and he could see why it was this land Thrall had chosen to settle his people. The land was as harsh and strong as they needed to be. It was a warrior's land.

They eventually managed to guide their horses down the ramp inside the tower which was thankfully more sturdy than that of the Forsaken towers, but then that was a trait inbuilt to most Orcish architecture. They were a steadfast people who had adapted to live inside a harsh land.

"We're to meet a troll first," Sokaron said blandly as he got on his warhorse's back. The others followed suit as they trotted to the gates of the orc city. Sokaron was not sure what to make of the Orchish city, this was his first visit and it surprised him to see how busy with trade and life it was. There were people rushing in and out of the auction house buying or auctioning wares through the resident goblins. This was also true with the bank as they walked past heading through the valleys of Orgrimmar until they finally reached Grommash Hold.

Faranor wrinkled his nose, the rough scent of the place wasn't quite to his palate but when needs must he supposed. They met an orc outside who took their horse's reins giving them curious looks.

"Thrall has summoned me," Sokaron said blandly as if this explained everything. The olive skinned orc nodded and gestured for them to go inside as he looked between the three. They entered the reception area that took place before where Thrall did his political and diplomatic affairs. There were already a few trolls around but they paid the three newcomers no heed. Sokaron's lips thinned even further as they continued on.

Seeming to finally take note of the warrior, hunter and the paladin, a male troll clad in decorated leather with a red mohawk and painted face walked into their path, causing them to halt. The troll male stretched out to his full height of a good nine to ten feet before resuming his hunch.

"I be Vol'jin of da Darkspear. Welcome to Grommash Hold, Sokaron of the Undercity. I know not who your companions be though," the troll, who certainly did like old and wise enough to be a leader of his people.

Sokaron grunted, "This is Faranor Thorongil, paladin of the Silver Hand and Jonathan Deaver, a hunter of some distinction,"

"Oh? And what might that distinction be, mon?" Vol'jin asked with a creeping smile about his tusks.

"He talks too much," Sokaron said this in a completely deadpan and emotionless voice and even at Jonathan's protests, the troll burst out laughing. Wiping a tear from his eye, he nodded and waved at them to follow.

"The Warchief be currently busy at the moment but you can wait for him in da same room," he grinned and with a little reluctance, Sokaron and the others followed the exuberant red-haired troll into the final hold where they could see the great leader of the New Horde. Sokaron watched the man keeping to his own silence for the moment. He could see and feel the greatness of the warrior and shaman within the man. This man who risen from the lowest rung to where he was today.

Sokaron had to admit that the Orcs had a history, a heritage to be proud of. The Forsaken however... their's was a tragic story right from the start. Sylvanas Windrunner was the pinnacle of the sad story and with the flashbacks he had been having lately, he was sure his own was equally tragic in its way.

"You okay, Sokaron?"

He glanced up at Faranor and nodded slowly wondering why the Blood Elf and the other Forsaken had stayed with him even though they hardly knew him. What loyalty did they feel they owed him? He was but a soldier, a warrior for his wretched people and yet they had stayed by him. The paladin nodded back but seemed uncertain and Sokaron wrinkled his nose, the man had not believed him. He should hardly be surprised, he was a paladin of the Silver Hand after all but he seemed more perceptive to others around him than was usual for the Blood Eld male.

Of any Elven male that Sokaron had come across, they were all stuck up in one way or another and incredibly vain about their appearances.

"Thrall be ready for you now," Vol'jin announced and the warrior nodded, gesturing for Faranor and Jonathan to remain where they were. The Warchief had summoned him only as it was. Thrall chuckled before him before waving the paladin and hunter to come to him anyway.

"I have heard much about you, Sokaron. I have a job I need you to do. The spirits say that you are the man for the task,"

"I will do what you ask of me, Warchief," Sokaron replied dutifully.

"Hear it out before you make your decision," he said slowly which made Faranor glance up curiously to him, wondering what was so important and yet required a choice. Sokaron nodded slightly and they all sat at the Warchief's gesture. He even sat on the floor with them instead of on the throne chair showing that he thought no higher of himself than he did the next person in line. Sokaron found it commendable.

"There is something coming... a great force I don't think anyone can imagine. Something that won't just effect the Horde but will effect the Alliance as well," Thrall began and Sokaron was not liking the direction this was heading. Still, he would obey the Dark Lady and Thrall. "There is still much to be done here, a restlessness has taken over the elements lately and I must see to their needs."

"What is it you ask of me, Warchief?" Sokaron didn't take tarrying around too well, his impatience evident and it brought a bemused smile from the older orc.

"I need you to contact Jaina Proudmoore, when you meet her... give this to her. She will know from whence it comes and to take you seriously. It is also why I beckoned your companions over. I hear from the Regent Lord of Silvermoon that you having a good standing with the Paladins of the Silver Hand?" Thrall asked, his blue eyes shifting to the blood elf who nodded as he palmed a scroll into the warrior's hand.

"Yes, Warchief... though we are namely part of a greater organisation now called the Argent Crusade. My name is known to Highlord Tirion Fordring" the paladin clarified with a bow of his head.

"Good, then I hope that your position and reputation with your knights on the Alliance will help grant Sokaron access to Jaina."

"I will have to speak to Fordring himself to gain that permission of court Sir, but I sense the times are dire" Faranor breathed and bowed his head once more, golden hair falling about his face. Jonathan seemed to have trouble restraining his amusement and had to focus his attention on his diseases wolf.

"Send my regards to him," Thrall nodded, he had much respect for the Highlord. They both had a hand for being able to set aside differences and work together to achieve a common goal. "You won't be going alone. You have yourself a hunter it seems but I believe Vol'jin of the Darkspear Trolls has put together a couple of people to help you get to where you need to go,"

"I have indeed, Warchief," The shadow hunter clearly didn't miss a beat and he waved two individuals into the throne room. They all rose to greet the pair and Kara sat on her master's skeletal feet. "This be Rozoru, a member of the Cenarion Circle. She be new to them but she's a well established druid. Zeb'Tabra highly recommended her,"

Rozoru was a Troll Druid with a vivid pink mohawk and small, upturned tusks. Her blue skin seemed to match that of Vol'jin's in the dark ambience but there was no mistaking her trollness as she smiled that same smile most trolls gave. The kind where one was never quite sure if they were thinking of eating you. Course Sokaron was well aware that cannibalism was not a heavy part of Darkspear tradition and they had given it up altogether when Thrall let them have a home and position in Durotar.

"I am hon'red to be a part of ya party," she said to the three of them with a lucrative grin and Sokaron slowly nodded. Ties with the Cenarion Circle would certainly help to bring about attentions and help them to complete this mission.

"This be Rok'thar, an elemental shaman... one who can speak on behalf of da elements," Vol'jin finished and Sokaron looked the shaman over. The female orc bowed to her Warchief and gave the undead warrior a deep nod.

"This will be your team to get you on your journey, all with the exception of... ah, I am not aware of your name..."

"Jonathan Deaver and this is Kara" the hunter rasped, grinning before seeming to remember that orcs weren't overly fond of the living dead.

"Mr. Deaver," Thrall smiled "have contacts of use to warn the Alliance. I am not sure what their shamans are seeing but if they are less attuned then... well, we shall see. Vol'jin will have your supplies sorted out for you. Will you take on the challenge, my friend?" Thrall asked him.

Sokaron looked back at him and nodded, "You have my service, Warchief. We shall embark soon as the supplies are handed out," He was determined to get this job done and to get back to the semi-boring life back in the familiar woods of Tirisfal. Alas! Fate was to have another path for the warrior as the party of five set out for the human lands in the Eastern Kingdoms.


	6. The Way Of The Warrior

The Way of the Warrior

They had decided that in order to give Faranor's black destrier a good lengthy rest after their journey, they had gone to The Broken Tusk for refreshment and rest whilst their mounts had been led off to the local stables. Rozoru and Rok'thar had joined them as they drank to the fortune of their mission. Sokaron however had kept himself separate from them, he needed to think and he was feeling increasingly weary. His head had continued to ache from Agamand Hills and the flashbacks of what appeared to be his life before death were of great distraction.

It was clear that the girl was important to him... the implication of her being his daughter, that he had a family once and who had friends who loved and cared for him. Something he had no experience of in his undeath. No one care or loved his kind, not even amongst his own brethren. He gave an inhuman if nonexistent sigh before staring, his eyes unseeing, not realising that the druid had sat opposite him, carefully watching with curiosity and concern.

_The sun had been shining quite strongly throughout the day and the birds seemed to echo the family's own joyous activities. Theodred could not be happier as he accompanied his family to a local field so that they could enjoy the sunshine and the food they had brought for their picnic. He could almost smell the honey that waited to be eaten. Theodred laughed heartily, his wife Gloria joining in with her airy tunes, as his two sons and daughter ran on ahead giggling furiously in the summer sun._

"_We should do this more often, Theo," Gloria sighed happily hooking her arm through his. "We need to cherish these moments with our children before they grow up and have young of their own."_

"_Yes, my love," Theodred agreed and stole a kiss from her as the three children found a spot by an old oak where it bore suitable flat ground for their picnic._

"_Here papa! It's so pretty," Aretha cried, her energy coming through in waves as she seemed to bounce in her very stride and he grinned at her._

"_As pretty as you will be when you get older, I'm sure," he said and she blushed._

"_Daddy!" Theodred laughed and helped Bertie and Andrew to set the blanket out properly and set the food and utensils out. Man and wife enjoyed the shade of the old oak holding hands as the three children played games. Occasionally Theodred and Gloria would join in. They ate and talked about their lives, school and other fun things before Theodred dozed off, leaning against the aged bark of the tree._

_It was a high pitched scream that startled him from his slumbers and got to his feet in a matter of well trained seconds only to watch as Aretha scrabbled up her older and much taller brother Andrew as if he were a young tree. He moved over to them after checking where Gloria and Bertie were. They seemed to have found a stream and were investigating. Bertie always had a strong interest in local fauna and flora._

"_Whatever is the matter, little one?"_

"_She saw a spider..." Andrew said uncertainly._

"_I saw it! I wouldn't lie! See! There... there it is! Get it away Daddy!" Aretha cried before burying her face into her brother's neck. The older man turned to see a spider scuttling to the base of the brook. It was quite a large arachnid too but Theodred knew it was next to a baby considering how much bigger they could grow. He was glad he had brought his sword on the off chance. He moved towards it till it finally grew aware of his presence. It turned and raised its forelegs in a threat display. Theodred gave a good battle shout and seemed to puff himself out, making quite the racket in an attempt to settle it peacefully. That seemed to do the trick and the spider scuttled away from the brook in search of less occupied spaces. He smiled and turned back to his daughter sheathing his weapon and he took her into his arms relieving Andrew of her weight._

"_It was a baby, little one. He was more scared of us than you were of him," he smiled glad he didn't have to slay the life of a spider. She blinked at him and hugged him fiercely as he soothed the tears away._

_Every creature had its place._

He blinked his eyes open and frowned when he saw Rozoru's blue face so close to his own. At first he did nothing before he scowled further and sat a little backwards on the stool. She smiled faintly and nodded, her vibrant pink hair bouncing as much as her hair gel allowed. He was aware trolls went through buckets of it during their long lived lives.

"You had a memory, did you not?" she asked softly. Sokaron frowned, not understanding why the troll cared so much about so little a matter, and Faranor had told her that he was having flashbacks? That unsettled him. He knew he had a family once, but so didn't every other undead who was in existence.

"It bears no consequence,"

"You be wrong, mon," she shook her hand and took his hand in her own two-fingered one. Her skin was a lavender blue and he found it quite easy on the eyes. Still, he did not understand what she was doing, or hoping to achieve. "You be undead, a Forsaken of the Horde. Not a puppet on strings. You were human once, a man with those who loved and cherished him much in da same way as Horde families do. You can't run from that, warrior," she said, squeezing his cold hand gently.

Her voice was soft and melodic and for some reason worked on his otherwise frosted and emotionless nature. Again, he didn't understand this effect she seemed to be having over him and in the end figured it was because she was a troll, and troll women were known for their charming and bewitching ways though he was sure she only meant well by it.

"These flashbacks... they don't help,"

"Your death was traumatic, yes?" Sokaron nodded, absently bringing his free hand to the break in his skull. She took it with her own and he blinked furiously, his face stretching quite horribly. "Your brain still works how it used to, mon. It be a processor that learns and fixes itself over time. It seen fit to let you see these moments in your life before death. They aren't ta be ignored or they will only strengthen. Let them come, Sokaron. Let them guide you."

"That's what Faranor thinks I should do."

"Yea... he be a strange one mon... but his heart's in da right place, I t'ink," she nodded and gazed to the paladin, who had since taken to a chair and was now promptly sleeping. It looked like Rok'thar and Jonathan had something in common since they were talking like wildfire by the bar, hand gestures frequenting their personal spaces.

"You hardly know him." he said shrewdly and she laughed.

"I am more than a troll, Forsaken. I be a druid, a Guardian of Cenarius. I see more into the hearts of others more than they realise themselves. That, and blood elves aren't usually ones to accompany undead folk so easily,"

He could not argue against that notion... blood elves were notoriously vain and self opinionated. They never sought company that they thought were lesser than them most of the time if they could help it. Course, since the Forsaken and the Sin'dorei were now part of of the Horde, they had to get past their differences. Still... there was something in Faranor that Sokaron liked despite the fact the man annoyed him. Jonathan too.

She placed her hand on his shoulder bring her back to the focus of his attention, "Perhaps... when we get into Stormwind... we can find out what happened to them, mon? That might help put your mind at ease," she said softly.

"If they don't kill us all on sight first," he said dryly.

"I thought of that, as has Rok'thar. Hey mon! Come ovah 'ere," she called to the female orc and the shaman walked over shadowed by the hunter. Kara had remained lying in front of the fire, relishing as the heat seeped into the wolf's bones.

"I would call Faranor too but he looks so tired,"

"We've been travelling quite extensively lately... I think this is the first inn he's been too in a long while," Jonathan explained, plopping himself into a seat. Rok'thar grinned and nodded before she too helped herself to a seat. Sokaron was glad, he found her rather imposing, but again... orcish women were usually the strong hardy type.

"Faranor has his connections with those in Fordring's standing. Rozoru has hers in Stormrage's and Runetotem's. If we can get the Alliance shamans to listen then we'll have even more of a chance. Still, Fordring would definitely be able to get us entry, never mind Proudmoore and the likely spot we'd find him would be Light's Hope... there's going to be some to do there soon I think. We should be there."

Rozoru nodded and Sokaron could see the logic. Jonathan however piped up, "Won't there still be zealous ones out there? Angry hot light don't feel pretty" For the first time in a while Sokaron chuckled.

"Light's Hope is sacred, consecrated ground. A pinnacle point in all our history where Alliance and Horde threw aside their differences to drive back a fearsome foe. Yes, the Lich King attacked solely to bring out Fordring... he was driven back by the Ashbringer and we all gained new allegiances in the Ebon Blade. Ever since, Fordring has made an important stand that all are to be welcomed from Undead to Gnomes. It is governed by paladins from both sides. They will not kill us on site, especially when they see Faranor and his charger,"

"I see you learn a lot," Rok'thar mused peering at him.

"I'm a noted warrior for the Dark Lady... I hear much, see much and I still read," he nodded and stretched his bones as he noted the living members growing more tired in the wake of a fire.

"Tell us your story," Rok'thar breathed and he obliged the shaman, perhaps it would help to abate his dreams that troubled him so deeply.

"I... do not remember much," he paused as Faranor finally woke from his slumbering rest and moved to join them. Even though there was no more seating where they were, he seemed content to sit on the floor, using Sokaron's chair for a back rest. "I woke with no memory of who I was or had been. I didn't know the man I was in life. Only a husk in death... the way of the warrior seemed to be a natural calling to me. I do not know if I was one in life... but many believe I was. I was content to just exist, serving our Dark Lady and oblivious to any former ties."

"But you have a family, Sokaron," Faranor breathed sleepily and absent untied his ponytail before redoing it again more neatly.

"I really don't remember much about them. Got a visual, but eh... nothing." he replied giving the elf a perplexed gaze before Rozoru prodded him to continue and he nodded, sweeping his lank hair back with a hand. "I was asked to head to Agamand Hills. It lies in the northwest region of Tirisfal Glades... it's a bunch of farmsteads and a flour mill. These two tagged along." He gestured to Jonathan who grinned and poked Faranor's shoulder and he promptly yawned. "We had to clear out the mindless undead that were still under some of the Lich King's power. The old Agamand family were still there... undead, mindless and wretched."

"We came to this one homestead and after putting the undead there to rest, I had come upon this room," he reached into one of the pouches attached to a belt and brought out the jade figurine he had found. "For some reason, when I picked this up, I was assaulted with images. A man laughing, holding a girl in the air and spinning her around. She was giggling."

"What did she look like, mon?" Rozoru asked curious, not many undead who had forgotten their former lives remembered them. Sokaron was indeed fortunate to have remembered anything of his former life.

"She was... pretty... auburn hair and bright green eyes with a little upturned nose and rosy flesh," he mused and he fell into silence, holding the jade figurine. "The room I was in was that for a girl."

"I still have that painting," Faranor breathed, "It's in my saddlebags."

"It's faded, Faranor"

"So?"

Sokaron shrugged and continued, "I've been getting more of them since... and the faces seem vaguely familiar but when I try to think of who they are, what they might mean to me... the answer goes away"

"You can't hope to force answers when you're mind isn't ready for them,"

"Faranor's right, mon. When you are ready, your mind will see fit for ya ta understand,"

Rok'thar noted the late hour and suggested they got some rest in before the long journey back to the Eastern Kingdoms and on to the realm of humanity. They nodded and one by one they headed for their rooms. Sokaron rose, his joints creaking slightly before he left the inn trusting the hunter to keep an eye out for anything untoward.

Night in Durotar was a cold one with soft winds the came from the cold north but Sokaron hardly felt it. He went and tended to their mounts, making sure they would be up to the long ride tomorrow. He was anxious and nervous... emotions that were new to him or at least he hadn't felt for quite some years. Both warhorses were fine. Faranor's charger took some offence to him checking the destrier over but Sokaron did believe him ready. He didn't dare to check Rozoru's keen eyed olive raptor or Rok'thar's bottomless pit of a timber riding wolf. He didn't fancy being on their breakfast menu, though he believed they were more interested in keeping him away rather than munching on what meat he barely had on his bones.

The night was slow to reach morning and by then, Jonathan and Sokaron had everything ready. All that was left to do was for the living members to get their morning meal and get themselves all ready. Both the shaman and druid had left at some point for inks or herbs or whatever they had made mutters for. It was of no consequence to the warrior, he was keen to get a move on. They eventually mounted up, the raptor and wolf snapping at each other till it was decided for the horses to go between them to make sure they didn't get any fancy ideas.

Vol'jin waved them off as they headed for the zeppelin towers, and like before, it took them a week to get back to the Eastern Kingdoms. They landed at Brill and brought their mounts carefully to the ground. "We'll have to negotiate the Eastern and Western Plaguelands before we reach Light's Hope. It will mean camping on tainted ground," Rok'thar mused aloud and the undead nodded. Their position was always clear. Since they did not require sleep or sustenance, they kept sentry duty which allowed the living more sleeping time without the need to get up. Sokaron found this annoying in some ways but there wasn't much he could do about it. They carried forth in relative silence. Jonathan was next to Rok'thar and the pair were talking quietly. Faranor was out in front with Rozoru and Sokaron at the rear.

The troll was humming to herself and he found himself listening along to her bouncy tunes. They eventually reached the Bulwark and picked up further supplies. They waited for a few moments whilst Faranor spoke with the Argent Crusade members that were there. He returned with a smile on his face.

"Highlord Fordring is currently at Light's Hope and plans to be there for a few months,"

It was good news, least they knew that upon reaching the paladin fort that their time would not have been wasted. The tricky part was getting there, the chances of running into leftovers of Menethil's scourge and running into trickles of Scarlet Crusaders were pretty nominal. Those at the Bulwark wished them luck before they entered the old realm of Andorhal. They would stop at the newly constructed Forsaken half of the old city to relax a little before moving on. Sokaron had heard that Koltira had been stationed there, ordered to claim it from the Alliance who still tried to defend their old city.

Still, they had a long way to go.


	7. Haunted Not Enough

_Haunted Not Enough_

They had spent most of the next few days avoiding any signs of Alliance in the Western Plaguelands. With Arthas Menethil's downfall, his power had lessoned greatly and now it seemed the land itself was finally recovering from the plague that had stricken the old human haunts. Humans and all sorts had begun to move back in, reclaiming what they believed to be rightfully theirs. On some levels, it made sense to the once human warrior now sat on a saddle that was magically balanced on what remained of his warhorse's bones and muscle hidden by a ochre cloak. It had belonged to them once... all the way from Tirisfal to Stratholme. But then... they had not asked for their undeath, it wasn't their fault that they were no longer mindless minions of the Lich King but loyal soldiers to the Dark Lady that was Sylvanas Windrunner. It really should not have mattered to the Alliance...

But it did.

They were too much like the scourge.

Sokaron scowled as he glanced at the recovering greenery. They had dealt with some of the remaining diseased bears, wolves and the occasional spider as they were nearing Andorhal. They decided they would stop by at the Forsaken claimed half where a lot of rebuilding was going on to replace the old, decrepit buildings of the old human city. Perhaps they would see Koltira... the death knight was well known by now for all his achievements. It was rather interesting to know even the undead weren't overly comfortable with a death knight around. But then, they had been the cold heroes of Arthas's personal guard once.

"Ah, here be the trail," Rozoru announced softly before they turned their mounts towards the Forsaken buildings. The placed was shrouded in a dark mist that clung greedily to the leering buildings that surrounded them. Sokaron glanced up and saw a bat fly over heard before bringing his warhorse to a halt along with the others. They dismounted and took rest where they weren't in the way but it was not long before they attracted attention. Or rather Faranor did.

"Not often we get Paladins here let alone the seasoned sort," The voice that spoke was ethereal and cold. Sokaran could see the druid and shaman regard the Death Knight with a definite note of wariness that Koltira seemed to find amusing.

"I don't usually stop by this place," Faranor replied lifting his chin with that usual note of arrogance that all his kind bore. Even Koltira was doing it and Sokaron watched them. There was a curious familiarity with how Faranor treated the other. Perhaps they knew each other once. It wasn't unheard of, Elves lived longer life spans than most that lived in Azeroth.

"Indeed Faranor Thorongil. Your face is not easy to forget." The Death Knight replied resting on the butt of his sword as Faranor continued to regard him cynically and the Paladin only inclined his head. "Well, what brings you to Andorhal, Faranor... As you can see we are busy,"

"We're en route to Light's Hope."

'Light's Hope, eh? What for?" Sokaron was tiring of this to and fro of two elves that clearly had a history. It was not much of Koltira's business but since the death knight did not seem inclined to leave things to rest, he stepped slightly forward of the paladin.

"We are under the Dark Lady's and the Warchief's orders and part of those orders require us to see Highlord Tirion Fordring. I believe you have your mission here, Deathweaver and we have ours. Given Sylvanas' intentions for the Western Plaguelands, it is best for neither of us to forget it," he stated, his voice flat and cold before he stalked off in the usual hunched way of Forsaken.

"What ate his apple?" Koltira muttered darkly, eyes narrowing at the back of the warrior with a hand to the hilt of his runeblade, Bifrost, which glowed with the man's dark power.

"He don't talk much but when he does... ouch," Jonathan piped up causing Faranor to groan and grumble slightly as the Forsaken pushed forwards with Kara in tow. The diseases canine sniffed at Koltira before seeming to shrug and promptly sat on her master's feet. "But the Dark Lady likes him, I think,"

"Course she likes him, Jonathan," Faranor spoke, "He does little else but obey orders and she likes those who obey." His eyes rolled but Koltira did not miss the ruefulness and the hint within them and he smirked slightly before nodding.

"Very well then," he gestured to the grubby place with an extension of his arm, "Gather what supplies you need but do not tarry my soldiers. Our battle to win Andorhal must go on," he replied in his ethereal voice before he hefted Bifrost into the holster on his back as he turned and walked away to join two Forsaken who were busy consulting and arguing over what looked like a map of the ruined city. The group split up to gather what they needed to replenish but Faranor chose to seek Sokaron out.

He found the man sat on a wall that had yet to be finished by the Forsaken builders and joined him. They sat in comparable silence before the elf broke it much to the warrior's irritation. Sokaron had come to enjoy it, the soft stillness broken only by the calls of birds that flew from tree to tree. It was peaceful, not something most warriors could appreciate but Sokaron was not always so full of hate or rage. He could see the merit behind reserved wariness of the quiet-minded.

"Have you thought more about when we reach Stormwind?"

"I'm thinking that the Warchief had better be right in his estimations," he replied blandly before giving the other a look that Faranor found hard to read. The straps holding the man's skull together did not help with facial expressions, well, that of which Sokaron's remaining facial muscles could still do.

"You know what I meant," Faranor frowned before watching a nearby spider pounce on a rabbit unlucky to have bounded the wrong way after being chased by a fox. You knew things were getting better when foxes were around and looked healthy. He muttered under his breath and his swift judgement at least put the rodent out of its misery quickly. The spider carried it back to its hiding place looking quite smug with itself... or at least the elf thought it did.

"I have no family, Faranor," he replied blandly, "My life is dead. I live in undeath now. What use would they have for me other than to decapitate me? I'm the enemy to them... part of the scourge,"

"Don't believe in that propaganda," Faranor chided, "You had a family who loved you as all Forsaken did in their life before their dark rebirths. They deserve to know what happened to their father and you deserve to see if they're doing well for themselves. Your undeath changes nothing, what's happened to you is through no fault of your own. They can't blame you for what Arthas did to you. It's a shame the Alliance don't realise that,"

"Yes, they wonder why Forsaken hate them in return and are called thus," Sokaron replied softly. He still did not see what benefit he would get out of finding out what happened to his family when was human. Only so far that it might rid the nightmarish dreams that persisted in plaguing him.

"Well, that is true," Faranor nodded, "And I have no shame in admitting that I too do find Forsaken difficult to understand but I have patience and a willingness to get along. Arthas paid the price for all that he did and we have to move on, no matter who or what we are."

Sokaron looked at him then and smiled finding that his respect for the paladin further in his estimations. A chill wind caressed their skin and he watched the blood elf shiver whereas Sokaron paid it no heed. "I too find the living hard to understand," he said evenly, eyes on the paladin, "They're too complicated."

The Blood Elf chuckled, "Yes, but it makes us who we are. I am going to rest. I shall talk to you later."

"I'll see to the horses,"

"Thank you. Octavius deserves extra oats... I have pushed him too greatly and I think I will need to ask more of him"

"Worry not, Faranor. I will see to it," he turned as Faranor moved off, "And Faranor?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you,"

The paladin considered the man's words for a moment before he saluted the warrior and moved off to find some available sleeping quarters. Sokaron remained on the wall for quite some time staring almost into nothing. He hoped their mission would go according to plan and nothing would get in their way. Hopefully, he could return back to boring tasks that he didn't have to pay mind to soon enough.

It was early next morning before it was deemed fit for them to make their leave. Jonathan and Sokaron had readied the horses, wolf and raptor; though with the last two it had taken some doing given the snappish nature of both creatures. Jonathan had cursed the timber wolf and emerald raptor many times much to his diseased wolf's amusement. Troll, Orc and Elf soon emerged from the sleeping quarters that Deathweaver had provided for them and they shared a quick ration of breakfast before they all mounted up. They were about to depart when Deathweaver himself blocked the way on his undead horse that seemed to have no discernible personality of its own.

"There is a task I would ask of you, Faranor."

"Being, Koltira?" the Paladin returned questioningly. The death-knight smirked and urged his horse onwards, halting once he was next to Thorongil's Thelassian charger.

"Give this to Tirion. He will know what to do with it."

Sokaron glanced at the folded paper that Koltira passed onto the other blood elf and did not fail to notice that it had been sealed with a red substance with the imprint of the bared teeth of a lion's face. A sign that it had been written by a hand of the Alliance, a fact which put Koltira in some question. The Knight's of the Ebon Blade had returned to their former allegiances before their untimely death and rebirth by Arthas. Handing this back unread to the Alliance was somewhat risky to a member of the Horde. However, he did not speak out though he rather suspected the others had seen it before Faranor took the missive and pocketed it safely out of sight.

"That much I will do."

Koltira nodded and nudged his horse once more moving out of their way and waved them off, his face unreadable as his eyes glowed steadily with blue fire. The procession moved on out of Andorhal and onwards to the Easten Plaguelands where Light's Hope stood. They went in the same formation as before with Kara bounding about the feet of the mounts. They kept to a steady pace, galloping at intervals and walking at others when the mounts needed some rest. They reached the bridge that connected one plagueland to the one opposite and to something they did not expect.

They all slowed as they approached a caravan of dark oak and purple cloth with a woman stood out front looking perturbed or as if looking for something lost. It certainly grabbed the paladin's attention and he brought his destrier to a stop, which resulted in all of them stopping and ignoring the mutterings of the nearby goblin flightmaster. It was not only because she looked lost and alone that they had stopped, but because she was something most had only heard about in tale.

The woman was quite definitely a member of the fallen city Gilneas, a member of the Alliance who were all now Worgen more or less. A new race in themselves now. The woman looked at them and regarded them for a moment with now outward signs of hatred. Worgens had aligned with the Alliance once again and had a new home by thanks of Tyrande, the leader of Darnassus, home to the Night Elves.

"Milady," Faranor began, and it was clear he was used to being around members of the Alliance, "What troubles you?"

"Two friends of mine have misplaced themselves. They are young and overly curious. I had hoped they would return soon," she replied, her voice gruff and almost more male than female. "One is like you, a blood elf. The other a dwarf,"

"Are they with mount, lady?"

"No, so they could not travel far, I would think. I would go find them myself, dear sir but I cannot leave my caravan and horses unguarded,"

"I'm sure we can delay our mission long enough to find them," Faranor replied and Rok'thar growled slightly.

"Time is of the essence, Paladin,"

"Yes. I'm exactly that. Honour dictates that I lend my assistance. Besides, I believe it would put us in good standing with Fordring and the others if we were to lend assistance."

Rok'thar and Faranor continued to argue the point for some time before one of the others had had enough of their childish quarrelling.

"Enough! The both of you," Sokaron snapped and Rozoru murmured agreement as the warrior took charge of the situation. "We will assist. If it puts us in good standing with Fordring, the more chance we have of even getting into Stormwind and I don't suppose any of you want to lose their head. Jonathan, remain here and keep on watch. Faranor, you're with me. Rozoru with Rok'thar. Lady, what are their names and what direction roughly?"

"Gidwin Goldbraids went that way and Tarenar Sunstrike went in that direction," she gestured with her clawed hands seeming to take in the argument without preamble. "My name is Fiona, and I would be much obliged."

Sokaron nodded and then signalled for them to move out and headed in Gidwin's apparent direction. Faranor joined him as Rozoru and Rok'thar moved off to find Tarenar as Jonathan and Fiona launched into conversation.

"Clearly used to leading,"

"No. I just don't think arguing helps a situation," Sokaron blandly replied.

"My apologies, but you know how orcs are," he replied sourly and the undead shook his head in silence.

They continued on and it did not take them long to find the golden-haired dwarf but did not expect a shouting albeit subdued cobwebbed mass to greet them. Whether the dwarf realised they were there or not was unclear as they dismounted. Sokaron's gut flared and he unhooked his two-handers. As if feeling the sense of danger even more, the seasoned paladin muttered under his breath, his words as if a song. Sokaron felt stronger than before with the man's blessing and approached the trapped cursing dwarf.

So sooner had he taken a few steps when a clicking mass of bony skeletal legs rushed out, the head of the insectoid beasts standing many above Sokaron's own. Its scythed arm-like appendages attached to the chest of the thing reached out to grab the once human warrior. Sokaron threw a battle shout and side-stepped it, blades swerving to cut a piece out from its midsection. It screamed shrilly in anger and pain before knocking him back in punishment. Thankfully, the dwarf had shut up seeming to finally realised something was out here other than giant bugs.

But the damage was done, two more of the foul creatures appeared drawn by the racket that the dwarf and undead had made. Sokaron battled the slimy things that were clearly some horrid mutated forms of spiders. With Faranor healing him, keeping his spirits up and adding his own blade and shield to the fray, it was not long before warrior and paladin stood in the dead mass of black ichor and the exoskeletons of the spider-beings.

"Well, that was fun," Faranor breathed, wiping ichor off his gauntlets. Sokaron grunted before he moved towards the trapped dwarf, sheathing one of his two-handers before using the other to free the dwarf from his sticky prison. The dwarf spilled out and coughed heartily before accepting Faranor's hand to stand up.

"Oh hi!" the stout man greeted and seemed awed by the presence of the paladin there. Faranor smiled and made the introductions as Sokaron made sure no more of the beastly spider-beings showed up. Satisfied, he returned.

"We should make a move back to the caravan,"

"Fiona! Oh my, she'll be so worried! I was seeing if I could get any kills... oh, "

"Slow down, Gidwin. We're here on her behalf," Faranor soothed and lead the way to where the horses where hitched.

"Oh good! Good! Will I be ridin' with ye,"

"Of course," Sokaron muttered, "With him," and he vaulted into the saddle of his warhorse. Faranor sighed before he got on his and helped the stouter man up. They galloped back to where they had met the worgen female to find that Rok'thar and Rozoru had yet to arrive.

"Gidwin Goldbraids! I have been worried sick!" Fiona chided soon as she saw the dwarf but her hurt was not much compared with the relief clearly showing on her canine face. The dwarf hopped down and moved over to her. Sokaron and Faranor left them to their conversation as they moved off to one side to talk with Jonathan.

"Been chatting to Frax and Fiona."

"Frax?"

"The Goblin there, Fara. Anyway, apparently Eastern Plaguelands has been seeing a lot of Crusade activity lately. Been rebuilding the old watchtowers,"

"Well, that would make sense. What with the scourge easier to eradicate, the Lich King dead and the land coming back to life, Fordring and the rest have more time to focus on other matters," Faranor replied.

"According to Frax and his Goblin friends back in Orgrimmar, there are rumours that Thrall might be going to Outland and soon,"

"Hm," Rok'thar grunted, "If that is true, then I fear Eitrigg will have a hard time keeping Garrosh in check,"

Faranor and Sokaron both glanced to the orc and troll who had just arrived with a wide-eyed blood elf in tow. The orc did not seem best pleased with having to retrieve what she would have called an elf pup but also seemed enamoured with the political turning of the conversation.

"Yes, but Garrosh Hellscream has always been thus. I doubt very much Thrall would leave an inexperienced leader completely alone to rule." Faranor breathed thoughtfully and Rozoru laughed nodding. Sokaron could see the flinches Tarenar and Gidwin both made at the harsh, almost cruel sound.

"Aye mon, he'd ask one other others to help and not j'st Eitrigg. I imagine Cairne will yet have a hand to play in the future of young Garrosh,"

"Why not Vol'Jin?" Jonathan asked before he could think it through and the troll looked at him lengthily for a moment.

"I do not t'ink that Garrosh would follow Vol'jin's advice. People are still too suspicious about us Trolls, mon, 'im included. This you cannot deny, Rok'thar. I don't t'ink the orc has ever liked Trolls, Vol'jin especially."

"No, he is brash and untrained in the arts of leadership. One can hope he listens to Cairne Bloodhoof," the orc agreed, nodding sending her high ponytail everywhere.

Sokaron smiled as far as he could before he turned for the worgen female, "We must press on Lady Fiona. You will be all right now?"

"Oh, yes thank you all for your help," the Worgan smiled and shook his hand.

"Where ye all headed?" the dwarf next to her asked and Sokaron did no fail to notice how the strange pair of dwarf and elf could not stop staring at Faranor.

"Light's Hope, we need to speak with Highlord Fordring,"

"You best hurry then Warrior," Fraz piped up from where he stood by a wind-rider, "I 'ear he's off ta Hearthglen soon,"

"I could send an owl to let him know to wait for your arrival," Fiona offered, "It's the least I can do for what you have done for me,"

Farnor nodded, "That would be gracious of you, MiLady,"

The worgen female nodded and went into her caravan before coming out a little while later with a own perched on her forearm and a parchment in her other hand. Sokaron let Faranor write the message to his superior knowing his own handwriting was far from neat. The paladin rolled the parchment and popped it into the carry case attached to the owl's legs.

"To Light's Hope, little one. We shall find you there," Fiona murmured and the owl hooted before it spread its wings and took to the skies flying off in the direction of the paladin capitol.

"Thank you," Sokaron said, nodding to her as they all remounted their waiting creatures.

"It's my honour. Travel well my friends," she bowed her head and with hearty goodbyes from all, they were once again on their journey.


	8. A Father Unforgotten

A Father Unforgotten

"Aretha!"

"Aretha! Where are you?"

She could hear both her brothers from inside the house but she did not return their calls or even acknowledge them. She was sat in the alcove of the park next door though saying that, it was not truthfully a park. It had become a cemetery to accommodate more of the dead of Stormwind but she found it peaceful to sit in one of the alcove's near to their house and stare at all the headstones wondering who they might have been in life.

Course, she had always thought about one death more than most after mother had died of a broken heart. That day had not been the best of days in Aretha's life when they had heard of their father's death only to find they would have no body to bury. His memorial service had been bitterly short and she just about remembered it. Her hand reached up and her fingers touched the silver locket on the chain around her neck and her mind went back to that day when she had last seen him. She could remember tucking a strand of his raven black hair back into place on his head before hugging him.

"There you are. You shouldn't scare us like that," Bertie said breathlessly, leaning on the trellis fence post as he regained his breath. He was in his early thirties by now and sported a faded beard that hugged his jawline. She could foot steps and looked up to see Andrew joining his older brother's side. Andrew was shorter and five years his junior with Aretha picking up the rear as she was still in her mid twenties.

She smiled,"I was thinking. You know I know I like the quiet places,"

Andrew smiled and nodded before he joined her always having time and space for their little sister. Whilst they looked more like their father in the man's youth, she had taken on the soft tones of their late mother.

"And pray tell little sister, what are you thinking?"

"About father. I still remember that day when he went away to Northrend,"

"We all do but he is lost to us now, no thanks to Arthas. Scum of the world that he was. We can only hope he is with mother, by the light I do hope it is that way," Andrew replied as Bertie sat next to her on the other side, sandwiching her in the middle.

"I don't feel that is he with mother," Aretha said quietly, her head downcast and forelorn knowing it wasn't the nicest thing she could say.

"How can that be? If he was still alive, he would have sort us out by now," Bertie replied, a little astounded by her words and how she still hadn't let go and moved on with her lives. They didn't enjoy it either but knew they'd only be stuck in a past that would do them no good.

"I just feel that he is still out there, somewhere. I don't know, Bertie. I just feel it. I can't help feeling it,"

"You've had a busy week. You should rest," Andrew said and Aretha shook her head.

"I'm fine. I just... get this feeling that nothing is what it seems and something is going to happen but I don't know when or where. Thank you, know that I love you... I need some time to myself and I have to see Brother Benjamin at the Cathedral soon," she replied getting to her feet and she turned, planting a kiss on their left cheek.

"Just... be safe okay? We worry about you,"

"I will be. At the first sign of trouble, I will call for you," she said softly before moving off towards the exit and out towards Cathedral Square.

Bertie and Andrew looked at each other before they sighed and spoke for a while longer till it was decided they too had to see to things oblivious and unaware of the events unfolding in the Plaguelands.


	9. Fordring's Blessing

**Fordring's Blessing**

Sokaron had lost count of the hours spent in the saddle and he never tired from it. Unlike the living, he and Jonathan were not bound by dated bodily needs. They did not stop for much of anything and they were content to remain that way. Or at least Sokaron hoped to once again when he had found a way to quell the flashbacks and nightmarish dreams. Whilst the Forsaken did not sleep, they were prone occasionally to what they had come to call dream-states, flashbacks to memories of their former lives and all else that they used to be. Since the Alliance would never accept them, it was the closest they would ever get to remembering their old living ways. These dream-states were never constant and often happened during when they weren't not preoccupied by other matters.

Sokaron had lapsed into such a state where his warhorse was following the horses, wolf and raptor around it, picking its way over loose cobbles without so much as a complaint. He saw himself as human and he could see that wherever he was stood amongst other men was colder than he had ever experienced before. He could hear chattering teeth and the tell tell sound of the others rubbing their hands and blowing into dry calloused palms. He could see their breath as the coldness turned it into a fine vapour or mist that bloomed outwards in the space around their heads. He felt as if he was there, back in the cold brutality of what was clearly Northrend for no other landmass could compare to these temperatures. He watched himself turn before his gloved hands moved to redo his ponytail so that it was tight, an errant lock falling on his forehead as it always did. That had been something he had carried with him into undeath though his fine mass of black hair was now somewhat far more lanker and greasy. He recognised the face standing next to him as the younger man spoke.

"_Hey, watch it man. You'll give someone an impromptu shave with those things!"_

"Darren,"

"Who?"

Sokaron blanked and turned his head to see the others all looking at him as if he had grown a new head and frowned, not understanding why they were all looking at him with odd and confused expressions. Least, that's what he thought they were showing since he was no longer familiar as he once would have been.

"What?" he said finally, still not getting the fact that he had spoken a name aloud.

"Who's Darren?" Jonathan asked, scratching his jaw and Sokaron caught Rok'thar's wince of disgust. Orc opinions of the Undead weren't something they bothered to hide. "You said 'Darren' like that's meant to mean somethin',"

"I... " Sokaron frowned, "He's someone I knew. Back in Northrend and the return... the return to Tirisfal," he said slowly, not understanding even to himself why it bothered him or what it meant. First, the memories of his family were bothering him, he didn't want friends to cloud the issue. He just hoped that his internal problems weren't going to get in the way of his mission but something told him then that even if it did, and it seemed all the more likely, Faranor wouldn't let him bale himself out of it.

"But... oh!" it dawned on Jonathan, "You had a wee dream-state," the undead man giggled gaining the oddest look from Rok'thar though she seemed more bemused than anything. Sokaron nodded silently as their mounts plodded along down the cobbled roads towards Corin's Crossing.

"What was his full name?" Faranor asked, bring his charger next to the warrior's warhorse.

"Darren Johnson. He was far younger than me. Too young to have gone to war," Sokaron did not even know why he found this so easy to remember at the sudden flashbacks of a man he had not known or remembered moments before it had happened.

"We'll shall ask of him when we reach Light's Hope. They may know something of him there," Faranor replied with a hand to the warrior's back in gentle reassurance. Sokaron glanced at him and tried to smile through lank muscle but it was not easy. He was so used to not bothering to show his emotions that remembering what a smile looked like was painful, and thus why he did not do it often.

They reached the outskirts of Corin's Crossing only to find it swamped by wandering abominations, wailing banshees and members of the cult practicing their dark spells. A couple of guards seemed to join them from nowhere and they all looked at the humans. It seemed like they had seen Horde before and were used to the threat they posed, yet one spoke up in decent orcish, which certainly got the shaman's attention. Orcish speaking humans were uncommon and they all wondered at who had taught him.

"I would not follow that road if I were you, friends," the guard began though he eyed Rozoru's raptor with a wary gaze. The emerald creature hissed and snapped gaining words of reproach from the troll. "You'll attract more attention that it's worth. We have a back road by way of the tower you are free to use,"

The party looked between themselves as if wondering whether to trust the words of a human regardless of the fact he spoke the common tongue of the Horde. Rozoru finally seemed to find her voice and brought her unruly raptor round, "We will take your road, mon. We tank you for the hospitality,"

Sokaron had begrudgingly agreed, whilst he would have loved nothing more to decimate the undead wandering close-by, it would have wasted valuable time and effort. Time was a precious commodity for their mission, Thrall had not been deceptive on that part. The guards nodded and lead the way back to their post before he turned again, the guards making a way open through their defences.

"Follow the road ma'am, and do not stray, I pray you,"

Rozoru gave the men her mark of blessing, a faint paw print appearing above their heads that would boost their agility, strength and overall morale. With that, the troupe carried on the road marked out for them eventually reaching the tower of Light's Shield as they came to learn. A man clad in heavy armour, clearly marred and dented from use stood in their way and held his hand in the air to halt them.

"What business do you have in the Plaguelands?" he asked, his head tilting as he regarded them one by one whilst an Orc joined him clad in similar silver armour that marked him a part of the Crusade.

It was clear to him it was his turn to spoke and Sokaron cleared his clammy throat, "We have been charged by Warchief Thrall to bear audience with Highlord Tirion Fordring. It is of the utmost importance to both the Horde and to your Alliance that our meeting takes place."

"I thought Orcs were distrustful of the undead to entrust their missions to them," the man replied and the warrior did not fail to notice the expression fleet over the orc's face. The man was testing him and Sokaron's warhorse snorted, pawing the ground as if to feel its master's tension.

"Warchief Thrall is not like most of his brethren," Faranor spoke allowed gaining an amused look from Rok'thar. It was not often an elf spoke favourably of others with such reverence but then Faranor was not like most Sin'Dorei, "He is a child of both worlds, one who understands the bigger picture. If he has seen something in Sokaron, then who are you to disagree with him? The Forsaken have lost their former lives through the fault of the False King, not their own. Whilst being Horde, he has ties to the Alliance. Sokaron will carry out his mission even if it means his head. You would do the same if you were him,"

As Faranor had hoped, he saw the reaction to the term he had used for Arthas. Anyone who had lived in Lordaeron at the time of Menethil's betrayal would have used it themselves only too well and it had the effect he had desired.

The Orc finally grunted, "And I suppose the Banshee Queen feels obligated,"

"I follow her orders and I follow Thrall's. For the moment, their goals are the same common purpose. Everything else is irrelevant. We are wasting time, time Azeroth may not have. Would you risk destruction just because you would rather have my head, Sir?" Sokaron snapped, his eyes glowing with intensity.

He could the man's guard rise, his stance stiffened but Sokaron did not want, did not wish to fight him. Not today. No, if his mission were to succeed it would require as little Alliance blood as possible. They had worked together before to defeat Arthas... a union most tenuous at the best of times but yet, they could not end this trade off if a worse enemy was to appear and take everything they took for granted and led it to ruin.

"The Highlord will have received word of our coming, Mister?"

"Frederick Calston,"

"Calston. As a Paladin of his Order, I do not wish to keep him waiting. I, Faranor Thorongil of the Silver Hand, will vouch for my company not because they are Horde or my friends, but because they share a mission that even the King of Stormwind will be forced to hear. I would rather commend you for your co-operation Mr. Calston, not demerit you to Fordring. That will bring you shame, I fear," the Sin'Dorei spoke.

The orc failed to hide his laugh before he turned away, eyeing Rok'thar for a moment as he did so but did not add anything to the conversation seeming to be placated by Sokaron's and Faranor's words. Frederick on the other hand seemed to be in two minds on letting them pass but he eventually stood to the side of the pass.

"Thank you," Thorongil replied as Sokaon adjusted his facial straps again before nudging his skeletal warhorse forwards again followed by the rest of them. They head down the path and Faranor sighed heavily, scratching his chin. Sokaron laughed suddenly and patted his shoulder.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one who find Humans trying,"

"Their stubbornness and prejudice is... more than trying. They are so blind a race but they are not all like that. It is hard however to forget that most are sheep,"

Sokaron smiled before a gruff voice halted them once again drawing another frown of disdain from most in the party. They turned in the saddle and Rok'thar grunted as the male orc from before joined them on his own riding wolf.

"May I join you till the next tower? The forces of Arthas may have declined but there are still threats to warrant traveling in groups," he said

"To which tower are you headed?" Rok'thar asked of him with a clouded smirk.

"Northpass. I'll have to fly from the next tower but I hate flying," the orc grumbled.

"You are welcome, mon," Rozoru replied and Jonathan grinned as they began moving off again, traveling the road in two. The two wolves were certainly less noisy together than wolf and raptor had been but in turn, it was making the horses skittish.

It was a few more hours on the cobblestones before they thought about a short rest stop and sat around a fire that Jonathan put together in a very short space of time. He laid traps around them that would react to give them warning if anything unfriendly drew too close to them. Most of it would just be blighthounds and bats but you did occasionally run across the over zealous Alliance or Horde member wanting to shred you to pieces.

"Bit of a funny place for an Orc to be, isn't it?" Jonathan asked, plopping himself next to his wolf, Kara who gave an affectionate albeit garbled whine.

"It suits my purposes. Contrary to popular belief, I don't mind the Alliance all that much. We all for the same glories," he replied with a gruff smile. "If anything, you lot are perhaps one of the more interesting groups I've seen. Calston isn't one to back down. You must have good standing back in Light's Hope,"

"I am known to Fordring," Thorongil replied whilst stretching and taking a long sip from his flask. Sokaron knew from his position next to him that it wasn't water the man was drinking, but their oft favourite of Eversong Wine, the scent sweet and fragrant which matched the opulence most Sin'Dorei favoured.

"Heh, I bet you are. I suppose you've bumped into the Paladin wannabe's,"

"Gidwin and Tarenar?" Rozoru asked with a smile and the orc nodded, "Yes mon, we have. Delightful if argumentative pair with a penchant for getting into trouble,"

Faranor snorted, "They'll have to clean up their act if thy wish to become Paladins,"

"I think they will be great Paladins one day, Faranor."

The blood elf only sipped from his flask again as they enjoyed the warmth from the fire crackling in the centre of them all. They spent a further half an hour talking amongst themselves before they got on the road again, Rok'thar put out the fire with a burst of water summoned from a local source. She could feel the earth's will to regenerate and to be nursed back to health. She was sure that the Cenarion Circle were doing all they could to bring life back to the place. It definitely looked healthier than the last time she had been here.

At some point, Gaz Ukbaz, as he had introduced himself, left them to continue northwards to Eastwall Tower so that he could fly a shorter journey than it would have been from Light's Shield. Rok'thar had figured it was simply because the orc did not trust hippogryphs all that much over a fear of flying. None the less, it had made her smirk with bemusement.

Hours later, they reached the gates of Light's Hope and unlike Light's Shield, they were not barred from entry when the guards saw the unmistakeable Thelassian Charger and the tabard the elf wore. It clearly meant that Thorongil had business here. He slowed down and brought his black destrier to a halt by one of the guards.

"Is Highlord Fordring here? Did he receive our message?" he asked the sentry and the man nodded before pointing to the chapel ahead of them before he waved another man over and offered to take their mounts. The party dismounted and gave the reins, sharing them between the two men before Faranor lead the way up to the chapel. A sentry announced his presence and those inside turned.

It had been a rather busy day for the Highlord and he had still much left to do before he left for his old home of Hearthglen. A place that had held much meaning for him... it was where his wife and son had lived and he had been unable to see them since he had been labelled a traitor then. Though, he had snuck in to see his boy's initiation to becoming a oath sworn Paladin. He wondered how Eitrigg was now between the many years he had met him and saved the orc's life from certain unjustified death. It had taken a long time for the order to rescind the orders that had kept him from being who and what he was for so long. A paladin out of the fold from the light's embrace was a painful existence, and yet the light had not completely abandoned him... as if it knew that his actions were true and just.

A grimacing screech and a flutter of folding feathers brought him out of his reverie and lifted his gauntleted arm just up in time for an owl to land and present its leg to him alone. Tirion lifted a brow knowing owls were usually something used by the night elves, but he did not have a clue as to why they would wish to contact him. He retrieved the scroll of parchment from its carry case and the owl gave another hoot before taking off again, flying through the open door and soaring into the air.

"News, my Lord?" Tirion glanced to Maxwell, the man he entrusted to lead Light's Hope Chapel once the older Paladin left for Hearthglen. His eyes returned to read the letter's contents and he noted the script was elegant. It was unmistakeable as scripture written by the hand of an elf, an elf whose handwriting Tirion recognised only too well and did not need the name written below to know the identity of who had sent the letter to him.

"Thorongil returns, and he won't be alone. It seems I will have to remain here a little longer. He comes bearing an important message from Lady Sylvanas Windrunner and Warchief Thrall,"

"The Dark Lady sends a message?" Barthalomew spoke up, his voice raspy as most Forsaken voices were these days, his eyes were lit up in curiosity and Tirion nodded slightly.

"Seems that way. We shall see," he replied before coiling the scroll once more and tucked it away into a bag attached to his belt. "How goes the rebuilding work on Northpass?"

"It goes well. Little to no hostiles have tried to make a dent in the work though undead continue to walk in places. Corin's Crossing, Quel'lithien and Plaguewood are proving most difficult to eradicate Arthas' leftover forces," Lord Maxwell Tyrosus replied, showing the points on a map laid out on an old oak table that had seen better years.

"Faranor Thorongil will be pained to hear of it. Quel'lithien Lodge means a lot to his people. Lor'themar Theron will not have forgotten much less everyone else," he said ruefully putting a finger on the place on the map. Maxwell nodded and smiled slightly as they consulted some more before Barthalomew spoke up again hours later.

"Well, he comes a face I have yet to see," Tirion wondered at what the Forsaken meant as he turned to see a number enter the Chapel with Faranor in the lead. It was a curious mix; two Forsaken, one Orc, one Troll and a Bloof Elf. Tirion smiled as his eyes rested on the elven Paladin.

"Welcome back to Light's Hope Chapel, Thorongil. Your presence has been missed," he greeted, moving to meet them.

"Thank you, my Lord," the elf bowed before he stood aside, "These are my companions for the mission Warchief Thrall has set Sokaron, favoured warrior of Sylvanas"

Barthalomew's words now made sense to Tirion, the man had been going on about a warrior by the same name for quite some time and often got letters from friends back in the Undercity.

"You must be Sokaron," Tirion spoke and the warrior too bowed his head though said nothing in return, "I have heard much about you, thanks to Leonid here. He hardly shuts up about you,"

"Flattered, I'm sure," Sokaron rasped, "I do not wish to tarry with introductions, Highlord."

"No, quite... you come with an important mission and I wonder what part I am to play in this," he smiled slightly as Rozoru, Rok'thar and Jonathan took up positions in the chapel.

"Warchief Thrall thought that a letter by you to vet our entry into Stormwind was imperative to the success of the mission. The Alliance of Stormwind would shoot us down before we had the chance to speak with him and his city's shamans. I'm sure you have felt that something in the earth's core is stirring. Rok'thar has been filling us in constantly," Faranor replied and Tirion thought the man's words over carefully. There was no lie in that. Whilst Thorongil might be spared through his affiliation with the Argent Crusade and Silver Hand, the rest were still loyal solely to the Horde, and for the two Forsaken, it would be a painful reminder of past events for the humans residing within the last major stronghold of the human race.

It was clear the Forsaken would not return the Ruins of Lordaeron and on a private note Tirion knew that it was probably for the best though Tirion knew better than to voice such a notion. Memories on both sides were still too fresh.

"It will take more than a letter by my hand to grant you access into Stormwind. King Wrynn has made no compunctions about what his guards are to do with any Horde found on his land. You going alone... that would be lambs to the slaughter. Tell me more, Rok'thar, Shaman of Azeroth,"

The orc stepped forwards and bowed her head slightly, "Azeroth is still in pain. The elements... they are in constant flux. They do not always answer to my summons even before recent events but now... I am even more hard pressed to persuade them that I am loyal to them. I sense they are troubled and Shamans are not the only ones to feel it. The Druids too sense what we do... something is brewing. Warchief Thrall desires to know if the shamans of the Alliance have also experienced what we have. The need for the Horde and Alliance to work with each other again may prove to be more important than it was to defeat the Lich King,"

"And we do not know the reason behind it?" Tirion asked, his mind reminded of Fordragon... something that no one else knew about, not even Varian.

"No, Highlord, but whatever it is... it must be grand enough to worry the elements,"

Tirion nodded, finger stroking his bearded chin in thought as he heard the shaman's grave words and he noted the edge of worry behind her voice. Orcs did not let on their fears so readily and for her to have done so meant that whatever pained the elements was of great concern to them all, not just shamans.

"I will write a letter asking Varian to hear you and I will send a few of my order to accompany you. As it happens, we have a few Gryphons to spare to carry you all to Booty Bay, where all of you would be welcomed without fear of being shot down by trigger happy sentries. The Gryphons will only have to return there anyway so you may as well make use of them."

"What of our mounts?" Sokaron asked and Barthalomew laughed before being silenced by a look from Tirion.

"Our resident mage will see to them, no need to concern yourself with that," Tirion replied as he moved to the table once again and pulled a piece of parchment towards him before grabbing a quill. He scratched on the page concentration lining his aged brow as he wrote in his usual elegant scribble. Message written, he placed the quill back in the ink pot before rolling it up as Maxwell provided the sealing wax. Tirion pressed his seal into the warm red liquid before it cooled and solidified. He turned and gave it to Sokaron.

"Present this to the guards that I assume will arrest you. Offer no resistance, my word is my bond that this will grant you an audience with the King and Lady Jaina. I daresay you will also encounter King Greymane who now joins Varian's court. Lord Maxwell, could you go get Sarathir and bring him hence. I believe he will be the perfect candidate for getting them in,"

Maxwell nodded and left the room as Tirion smiled, "I hope your mission is successful master Sokaron,"

"I hope so too," he replied and he meant it but more out of the fact that Sylvanas did not appreciate failure in those she entrusted. If there was anything he did not want to lose, it was her favour. She had chosen him specifically to go see Thrall and do what the grand Shaman wanted of him. She had not relied on other other man or woman of the Forsaken based on their reputation.

* * *

><p>A.N= I figured that Gaz would be open to travelling between towers as the other guy is. Leave me some love.<p> 


	10. Into The Lion's Den

Into The Lion's Den

Flying, in Sokaron's experience, was not all that most made it out to be. It just was not natural for humanoids to be so high up in the air and yet here they were on a team of five gryphons destined for Booty Bay. Despite having travelled much of the globe, Booty Bay had been one of the few hot spot places he had never been to or even passed through until now. He had heard plenty about it from the Forsaken he had overheard but nothing really had pulled at him to bother visiting the goblin centre of commerce himself. Course now he had no choice but to, Tirion had not been kidding about trigger happy sentries and Sokaron had seen plenty of Alliance camps look up at them and raise their fists. He grunted as Faranor shifted behind him and has it had turned out, much to their surprise, Faranor hated gryphons with a powerful and tight vengeance.

The paladin didn't mind flying but the eagle headed lions never really seemed to like him very much and the feeling was mutual. Sokaron could tell the elf preferred the more streamlined and floaty flight of their favoured dragonhawks but then you never really did find them outside of Elven strongholds. The Blood Elves, he supposed, didn't trust the other races with their creatures of flight. Jonathan on the other hand had openly insisted that he got the fifth gryphon to himself insisting that Kara loved to fly. Sokaron wondered at this... how exactly did he know that Kara loved flying. Kara was a wolf... flying wolves was not an every day occurrence. He glanced at the elf paladin who seemed content on just hugging Sokaron even more and he could have sworn he had heard the man squeak behind him.

By the time they had reached Booty Bay they had rested at an Alliance camp where it had taken several mouthfuls from the men that Tirion Fordring has assigned them to stop them from all being killed on the spot. Sokaron was yet more grateful that Tirion had such high standing with his people and that he was loved greatly by them. At the same time, they didn't have much choice but to put themselves into his chief care, and if anything Sokaron disliked having to rely on, it was on those that would rather have his head on a spike by the morning. His hands shifted on the reins of the gryphon carrying him and Faranor as he thought more on the man who had granted them his blessing. Sokaron had never seen the man before now but knew the name of the famous Paladin was familiar to him. Not in his undeath but rather as a human back in his homestead. He smiled slightly as a memory flanked his vision and he was glad that his lank frame was being hugged so tightly. Sokaron was sure he would have fallen if the blood elf had not been hanging on for dear life.

"_Did you see him, Papa? Did you?" The boys' voices rang shrilly in unison as they hurdled into their father with more gusto than stampeding horses and Theodred Marshall laughed deeply at his two sons as he gathered them into his arms. Bertie was taller at his ten years of age with Andrew smaller and all the more angelic at five and yet Theodred lifted them both as if they weighed nothing over a feather. _

"_See who?" _

_It was a tease of course, they had been going on about the great and almighty Tirion Fordring like the man was going out of fashion all of a sudden. Whilst not a paladin himself, the warrior was always to hand to help protect grand occasions. Nothing more grand than Arthas Menethil's initiation into the Silver Hand of course and luckily for his two sons, he had caught a glimpse of Tirion as he had given the man his blessing as had Uther, Gavinrad and Dathrohan. Course, the journey had meant that he had not been home for a long time as it had taken place in the grand city of Stormwind. King Wrynn's city had rivalled that of Lordaeron and Gilneas without shadow of a doubt and knew that the Kings of the Alliance were very proud._

"_Oh! Don't be mean!" Bertie cried, punching his father on the arm though he pulled his face into a wince as he forgot about the armour Theodred was still wearing when they had hurtled into him as he came through the door. He glanced up to see Gloria and watched her smile with amusement as he narrowed his eyes slightly. It was that secret smile, the one she spared only for special occasions and he wondered at what she had planned for him._

"_Of course I did! Can't come and leave you two disappointed, now can I? Uther isn't so bad either you know... "_

"_But Tirion's amazing!" they cried in unison and he could not help but laugh at their simple mindedness to being amused by the smallest thing._

"_Boys, let your father be. I am sure he is starving from making sure His Royal Highness remained safe on the roads there and back again," Gloria spoke and begrudgingly they were released by the man's strong arms. "Go on, go play," she smiled before moving over to her husband and cupped his face with her hands. "I have prayed you would return safe and sound,"_

"_And here I am, my darling ray of sunshine," he grinned before he lifted and hugged her all at the same time with her giggling like a girl once again._

"_Careful, my love,"_

"_Careful? Why, what's wrong?" he asked, his face turning from joy to worry in less than a heartbeat. She chuckled softly before she silently took his hand and put it to her belly whilst smiling secretly at him again. "You're kidding?" but the happy grin to his face clearly stated he was definitely happy to have come home to such a present._

"_I think it will be a girl," she said dreamily and he enveloped her into his warm embrace once again._

"_I hope so too. I do kinda owe you a girl by now after two sons," he breathed into her ear._

"_Damn straight," _

Sokaron grunted as Faranor seemed to exhibit another loud squeak and hugged the warrior even tighter, or rather, as much as their plate armour would allow as the gryphons began to descend towards a heavily built over harbour. He could hear the bartering chatter of the goblins and other races below as the Dwarven flight-master seemed to finally register his flock and elicited a shrill whistle. The gryphons sank in unison before landing one after the other. Sokaron had to admit it was a graceful thing and agility was something he respected in all things, dead or alive.

That, and the look on the Dwarf's face to see Horde members on the backs of what were clearly mounts of the Alliance was definitely worth coming here. Faranor had gotten off the breathing creature and moved over to the amused Dwarf in less than a minute whilst the others were content to take their time. Sokaron smiled and patted the gryphon before it hissed at his scent of decay and moved off towards the roosting platforms nearby with the others of its kind. He could hear the growls and purrs of the winged manticores on another roosting platform nearby and watched Faranor grumble miserably.

"By the light, I hate those things,"

"They're only gryphons, Faranor Thorongil," Sarathir grinned before paying the flightmaster for the use of their taxi rides. "No different to those... what do you call them... Gargoyles?"

"Wind-Riders," another filled in

"Wind-Riders," Sarathir echoed.

"Different? They're just as bad!"

"Elves," Sarathir chuckled on the Sin'Dorei's expense before sobering, "Sasha Lightfury should be waiting for us on the far dock. Let's not waste time, shall we?"

They nodded before following the paladin with the rest of their escort taking up positions in and around them to prevent any hopeful upstarts. Sokaron held no doubts that they would be forced to enter Stormwind unarmed and otherwise defenceless and whilst he understood the reasons only too well, he still didn't it. He didn't have to like it, opinion was free and unrestrained. He vowed he would not lose that will of freedom ever again. The Lich King had taken it once and no other would command him like so. Sure, Sylvanas commanded him but he was still free to disobey no matter the penalty. With Arthas, he had been mindless, a slave to another's will. If Humans and Forsaken had anything in common, it was their will of freedom and strength of self.

It was not long before they reached their meeting point whilst trying to ignore the goblins that tried cunningly to sell their wares to them. One had even put himself in Sokaron's way only to be forcefully turned around and moved out of it with a look of warning on the warrior's ashen face. It had been enough to instil fear into the green skinned creature.

Sasha it seemed was yet another mage known to the Argent Crusade, perhaps through the effort in Northrend and she gave them a friendly greeting. She wore a tabard that clearly spoke of her allegiance with the Kirin Tor. Sokaron wondered what interest the magi of Dalaran were taking in these events.

"Welcome to Booty Bay. I have something that belong to you, as nibbly as they are," she giggled and Sokaron winced, airheads did not appeal to bis better nature. He watched as she began casting a spell with her hands, runes in a light appearing before a portal opened. After a few moments of silence, three men walked through trying to coax spirited horses, raptor and wolf to follow them.

"You don't hold a riding wolf like that!" Rok'thar snapped and took the reins off the pale-faced human who seemed only too happy to relinquish the reins. They all wordlessly mounted their destriers and Sasha stepped backwards along with the other men.

"Good luck!" she said with false enthusiasm and Sokaron knew then she had not approved. He hoped her superiors were more open minded but then, since when did he care what the world thought? He was a simple warrior eking out an existence. Sarathir nodded to her before leading the way. They had go at walking pace whilst they exited Booty Bay to reach the rest of Stranglethorn but after they left the shark's gaping jaws, they all launched into a gallop.

The journey was made in silence and a sense of foreboding. They had to survive Stanglethorn, which itself had gone through geological upheaval, and then through Duskwood before reaching Elwynn Forest. Much could happen in-between that time and Sokaron understood only too well that they would probably try to skirt round as many Alliance towns in the area as possible to avoid detection by wannabe heroes. He almost welcomed them but he just wanted to return to simpler tasks back home in familiar territories. Sokaron did not do 'political matters' very well and he knew that Faranor had better luck in that court. Still, he had been chosen so Thrall must have seen something in him worth sending him into the lion's maw.

They were nearing Gurubashi Arena when they began to hear a great ruckus so they slowed not wanting to gain unwanted attention. As they came closer to the noise, they saw many dwarves and even a few trolls trying to keep back a bunch of undead minions and ghouls. Sokaron grunted slightly as he set his eyes on the wretched mass that was once his mindless friends. Now freed, he wanted to put them out of their misery and he glanced to Sarathir hoping that they could spare a little time to help deal with them. It was a sore reminder of what he was, what he had become.

"Perhaps we have time enough to sort out this rabble," he did not hide the smile that formed on his lank face and Sarathir shifted uncomfortably upon his dapple grey destrier.

"They will succeed. We should keep going,"

"They are barely containing them, Paladin," he snorted as he dismounted and the Paladin began to protest when Faranor shook his head.

"You should see him in battle," he replied as Sokaron strode towards the group of trolls and dwarves on the front lines, his weapons unsheathed. Sighing, Sarathir nodded and they moved closer. Sokaron had needed this. The tension had become too much to bear and releasing his rage and anguish would help relieve it. Something told him that it would be useful to be full of calm to deal with Stormwind and the King.

When he was close enough, he yelled and charged the largest of his targets blazing through a red-haired troll and a battered dwarf both of whom stared at the charging Forsaken with intrigue. The undead were slow to register that they had an enemy in their midst and Sokaron had managed to down a good many of them before they began to focus upon him. Faranor dismounted and moved into the lines of those keeping the horde at bay. He placed a beacon on the Forsaken and healed him before replenishing those of the dwarves and trolls. It was uncommon for trolls and dwarves to fight side by side but everyone understood the concept of the enemy of their enemy was their friend.

The war against Arthas had also produced many friendships between Alliance and Horde and although both were loyal to their side, they often made minor leeways for their friends. And then for those who did not align themselves with the warring factions, it was made easier too. Faranor could see that some of the stout and lean men and women around him were good mates. He glanced back to his warrior friend and noted with appreciation that Sokaron seemed to be fully enjoying himself. Hopefully, the journey would go more smoothly.

Eventually, the rest of the party joined in with Faranor and Rok'thar keeping up everyone's spirit's, Rozoru and Jonathan providing high damage from afar whilst the paladins kept up a close and personal front. Much ichor had been spread across the field before the number of undead were dealt with and Sokaron stood, transfixed by the massacre around him before he glanced back to see the trolls whooping and the dwarves cheering before thanking the paladins. Rolling his shoulders, Sokaron rested his weapons against him as he found a cloth in his bags. He wiped his blades clean of the black ichor that had stuck to them in the bloodshed before he sheathed them and returned to the waiting mounts.

"Thanks for the help, mon!" a blue-haired troll with fragrant tattoo's on his face spoke and Sokaron inclined his head whilst the troll grinned around his long curvy tusks. They stayed to help with the dead trolls and dwarves that had not survived before setting on their way to Elwynn Forest once again. It took them many days to ride through Stranglethorn and with the exception of the odd hopeful raptor pack or ogre, they passed through unscathed. It was when they were turning for the bridge that would take them into Duskwood that they heard a shout. They paused and turned to see a night elf with vivid green hair and a butterfly tattoo on her face coming towards them.

"I am glad I have not missed you, the dwarves had said you had come through!" she said in a rush and rested on her thighs for a moment.

"Why are you in a hurry to tarry us, Night Elf?" Sarathir asked as his destrier whinnied and shifted around before stilling. The Night Elf ignored him for the moment and looked at Rozoru.

"Rozoru, Guardian of Cenarius, you're needed in Moonglade,"

"Am I, indeed," the troll woman replied, "Are you a druid?"

"Yes Guardian. I cannot stay, there are more I need to speak with. Please hurry, your presence is urgently needed!"

With that the Night Eld shifted, her form grew smaller and feathers sprouted. Where a girl once stood, a purple hawk flew off into the skies. Rozoru sighed heavily before she drew up her raptor next to Sokaron.

"I had hoped to come all the way, Sokaron. I will come when I am able. Find them, Sokaron,"

"What if it does not help?"

"Ah mon, but it will," Rozoru replied with a smile that seemed to indicate her lack of doubt on the matter. She dismounted and removed the bridle and saddle from the emerald raptor. The raptor chirruped in a strange way that it had made all the humans with them shudder. "Go, my friend, you know the way to home. Ney'zarka will find you a space," she said to her companion. The raptor butted its head against her with a loving hiss before it sped back the way they had come.

"I hope your journey to Moonglade goes well, druid," Sarathir spoke and Rozoru smiled at him before she took something from her pocket and began chanting into it. Her hands glowed blue and it was not long before she disappeared altogether in a puff of smoke.

"We should go before the rebel camp nearby is alerted," Sarathir announced and they went on their way again at a full gallop over the bridge and into Duskwood where the atmosphere began to grow dark and ominous. No one was sure of what lurked in the shadows here and it was decided they would cut through into the forest to save time going through Westfall whilst keeping a wary eye out for unseen dangers. They did not slow for anything, skirting around any of the little Alliance outposts and managed to avoid very little detection. The odd spider, wolf or bear did occasionally charge at them when they had been disturbed by the sound of the stampeding hooves. They eventually reached the banks of the river and went along the shore till they found a suitable crossing spot.

"Wait," Rok'thar stated brusquely but orcs very rarely spoke softly and never to anyone not of their own kin. She chanted and raised her hands in the air around her. "I have asked the spirit of water to allow you to walk upon his child. His answer was tentative but he has obliged feeling our mission will help him eventually in return,"

"Thank you, Shaman," Sarathir nodded and they began to cross the water two by two until they were safely across. They stopped briefly before walking around farmstead's and avoided Goldshire to give their mounts a well deserved break from travelling so fast but they were aware that even the animals were wary of what lurked in Duskwood. Sokaron could glimpse at Goldshire nearby and the little village was ringing a bell in his memory. It looked familiar somehow.

"We are the road to Stormwind. I suspect they will ask you to disarm yourselves whilst in our city..."

"As long whoever takes them looks after them," Sokaron replied, wanting to get this over and done with as quickly as possible. He knew it would take some doing to convince the city guards and even more to persuade Varian Wrynn to believe him. There was no love lost between Wrynn and the Horde, that much the warrior understood only too well. They walked towards the city gates where the guards raised the alarm as they spotted the unlikely band.

The Captain of the guard rode forth to meet them and cleared his voice as he saw the paladins tabards, "What business does the Argent Crusade have with bringing Horde here?"

"I am under orders by Highlord Tirion Fordring to escort these individuals to receive audience with the King. Sokaron, warrior of Sylvanas, bears an important message that King Wrynn cannot afford to ignore. They have agreed to surrender their weapons so do so if you must but the King will want to hear what they have to say," Sarathir replied and showed the seal of Fordring in the wax that sealed the letter to the King. The Captain remained silent for a few moments before he barked out orders and sent a messenger to inform his Majesty of their arrival. He later ordered two of his officers to confiscate the weapons that Jonathan, Sokaron and Rok'thar carried and Jonathan had to hold on to the scruff of Kara's neck to stop her from attacking freely.

"Kara, we're not here to kill. Behave, yes? Good, wolf. Much meat for you later. Atta girl!" Jonathan muttered quickly gaining odd looks from the men of the city guard.

"He's quirky," Faranor filled in, the elf was allowed to retain his weapons despite his loyalties to the Horde. He was loyal to the Crusade first and foremost and would answer their call above that of the Warchief's or even the Regent Lord of Silvermoon. The guard enclosed them before the Captain nodded and turned his mount before leading the way through the doors and over the bridge that would take them into the heavy trading centre of Stormwind.

Everything seemed to cease action as they rode through, the horses hooves clattering on the dirty and worn cobblestones. Parents gathered their children close to them as they watched the Horde members with suspicion and outrage. Sokaron did not blame them for if anything, he was the worst offender here right now along with Jonathan. They were a morbid representation of what life could have spelled for the living and for the living to have welcomed the Forsaken into their fold, it made the Alliance's hatred of them increase tenfold. The youths weren't afraid to voice it and more than once did Sokaron catch a fruit or vegetable out of reflex where the others failed.

"Such a friendly bunch," Jonathan began and Sokaron blinked with irritation before looking at his fellow Forsaken with a look that was less than forgiving.

"Now is not the time," he said coldly as they turned in their direction for the way to the palace nestled into the hills that cocooned the Alliance capitol. If he was a more friendly race, he might have appreciated the masonry and the love that had gone into building it. Such as things were, all he could think of was getting out of her but the snag of what was plaguing him these past few weeks was getting stronger and the names that he had been hearing in his visions refused to be ignored by him now. They'd repeat over and over inside his mind and he lost track of time and space as he tried to clear his head. It wasn't working and blinked furiously at a human guard when the man nudged him with clear distaste at having to do so.

He noted they were in front of the palace now and he could see up into before the ramp shut off his sight. Giving an automatic sigh, he got off his warhorse and their mounts were lead away, though it took Rok'thar's wolf much convincing by the Orc shaman to let the humans take it away.

"We're watching you so don't think of anything stupid," the Captain of the Guard said before leading the way up into the keep. Some of the paladins had remained behind but Sarathir came with them, walking by Faranor's side as Sokaron walked in front of them, behind the Captain. It did not take long for them to reach Varian's court and the man stood with a face that barely contained his fury at having allowed such vermin into his city.

"What's the meaning of this?" he asked and the Captain merely stepped aside looking at Sokaron with a gesture.


	11. The Lion And The Eagle

The Lion and the Eagle

So the time had come and here he was standing before the King of the Alliance, Varian Wrynn himself and Sokaron followed the customs he knew of Alliance to have. He took a knee and bowed before he rose again, unwilling to appear a servant. His mind wracked at how to phrase the message that Thrall had bestowed upon him.

"King Varian Wyrnn," he began, barely noticing a woman enter the court, standing to the side of one of the men who seemed to watch him with curiosity, "I have been charged by Thrall, Warchief of the Horde, to come to you with a question. A question that could mean an end to the world as we know and understand it," he said and he watched as Varian digested the information before a flash of light took place and they saw Jaina once the light dissipated.

"What does Thrall ask?" Varian spat, hardly amused and Jaina threw him a warning glance before her eyes rested upon them once again.

"Even though Thrall is a warrior, he also answers the shaman's call. According to the warchief and the shamans of the Horde, the elements have been unstable. I am no messenger for the elements and Thrall has asked Rok'thar of the Earthen Ring to join me here. Thrall wonders if your shamans have felt the same troubling signs. I have a message from Highlord Tirion Fordring with his blessing for us to have come here."

Faranor produced the document and presented it to the King who took it from the elf, unsealed it and his eyes read the words in Tirion's own hand. Varian recognised it instantly and regarded the warrior and hunter for a moment before he looked back to the letter.

_To King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind,_

_It is not often I would send men and women of an opposing faction so freely into your land and ask that they receive pardon for their trespasses. I know only too well what they represent. However, the fight against Arthas has finished but we cannot stop for a moment if what Sokaron and his companions, which includes a paladin I trust, have to pass on to you is true. The time for the coalition may yet not be over and we will have to consider what Warchief Thrall is suggesting greatly. Together, we stand united and the world cannot so readily fall. Is that not what we agreed with the fight against Arthas? _

_I am aware of your distrust towards the Horde given your history, Varian but I humbly ask that you at least give them room to talk with the shamans of your court. It may prove to provide you with information you may not have otherwise gained. _

_Whilst Rok'thar and Faranor Thorongil bear loyalties to organisations larger than that of their factions, Jonathan Deaver and Sokaron, for he does not remember his human name, are loyal. However, I know their condition is a painful reminder but it is not their fault or doing as to what and who they now are. Sokaron appears to have a practical mindset that you, yourself, perhaps might appreciate in an unstable world and he appears willing to do what is necessary to fulfil his mission given to him._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Highlord Tirion Fordring_

Varian rolled the paper in his gloved hands and gave it to Anduin who took it wordlessly and did not read it though it was clear he was wanting to. Varian then moved towards the undead warrior and regarded him for a moment.

"I have not met many Forsaken willing to come to my court unarmed,"

"If it means I get out of here more quickly, King Wrynn, then no matter how much it riles me, I will do so. I came here to get a job done. Warchief Thrall requested me for this mission, I don't know what reasons for this he chose but I will do what is necessary,"

"If roles were reversed and it had been an Alliance party to have sought Thrall out, I doubt they would have gotten through the door,"

"Then you would done as we did," Sokaron replied, his response a little too cut and dry and it seemed to have an undesired effect upon Varian but the Forsaken did not do well at politics. It had confused him as to why he was the one chosen for this and not one more suited to the task.

"What he means to say, your highness, that by having people who are affiliated with neutral organisations with ties to both Horde and Alliance, the party would stand more chance of being heard in the very least," Faranor spoke up and his head dipped in a refined if unglamorous version of a bow. Varian glanced at the paladin elf before looking to Sarathir.

"I believe you are friends with such shamans, Sarathir?"

"Yes, my lord. They're both in the city as far as I am aware,"

"Fetch them and do not delay. I will entertain this lark."

Sarathir nodded, bowed as did the other paladins before before they left the crew of Horde surrounded by city guards. Sokaron was beginning to tire of this and at how long it took. Faranor placed his hand on the man's shoulder to give him reassurance and caught him off guard, the Forsaken uncharacteristically jumped. Faranor gave an apologetic face in return before dropping his hand. Sokaron nodded, glad for the company. He would not have liked to do this alone, he doubted he would have made past the front gates let alone into the royal chambers.

Varian turned back to Sokaron, Rok'thar, Faranor and Jonathan as Jaina joined him. They seemed to share a few words without a need to talk before Varian cleared his throat, "It is just about lunch time. Whilst it's against my better judgement, perhaps you will join us? Though, I suppose you two won't need feeding,"

The latter of his statement was of course directed at the two Forsaken but Faranor spoke in quickly to stop them from using it as an excuse to back out, "Your offer is graciously accepted, my King,"

Varian nodded and gestured for them to follow before making to leave for a door to the left of his throne as a steward hurried on ahead to inform the kitchen staff of the preparations they would have to make. Anduin and Jaina followed suit as members of the King's personal guard brought up the rear. They had to climb up circular stairs before reaching the upper floors where the King walked towards a pair of large wooden doors. He opened them before the guardsman could do it for him and they were shown into the large room with a long dark-stained oak table with matching wooden chairs that were cushioned with red velvet and golden studs. Paintings of landscapes and Kings of the past including that of Varian's father, King Llane, were hung on the wall surrounded by blue drapes held up by golden lion's head fixtures.

"Please, sit," Varian spoke though it was clear he was not really fond of having to entertain Horde but they had held their word thus far it seemed and true to Tirion's letter, Sokaron seemed quite rational and capable of dealing with people that would have his head by sundown. Another man joined them and smiled slightly though he did eye the Horde members with some concern and held suspicion before he spoke.

"My apologies to my lateness, King Wrynn but I had matters amongst my brethren I had to attend most urgently,"

"Apologies accepted. Have a seat. This is Genn Greymane, King of Gilnaes... which of course now is under greater siege by the Forsaken forces in the area," Varian watched Genn for a moment before looking to Sokaron and Jonathan, looking for a rise that would hopefully end this charade. The Forsaken warrior simply gave a warning gaze to the hunter to shut his trap before he opened his own.

"I did not come here to argue tactical pursuits, King Wrynn. I came so the shamans of Horde and Alliance could convene and discuss the elements. When the Dark Lady wants me to divulge such talk with you, I will do so then and not before. However, this is unlikely to happen,"

Sokaron had not come here to fight and this verbal jousting was not something he was interested in either as they took places around the table with the two Kings at either head of the table. At the signal given, they sat down. Kara whined and Varian glanced to see the diseased thing had followed them.

"I trust your dog can behave itself, Mr. Deaver?" he asked with open disdain

"Kara's a wonderfully behaved wolf, King, and call me Jonathan," Jonathan replied before muttering commands in gutterspeak that was too rapidly spoken for others to understand with the exception of Sokaron who smirked slightly. Kara gave another unimpressed whine before stalking towards the fireplace nestled into the side of the wall and lay before it.

"For the moment, I think we should get along as if we were on the same side," Jaina spoke, placing her napkin on her lap, "I do not believe that they mean harm to us. I for one am interested in these events. Have they been occurring quite often..."

"My name is Rok'thar, Lady Proudmoore and yes, for a few months. It was not as noticeable at first but as time grew, I was not the only shaman to notice the elements. They were unsettled and restless... something was troubling them and we can only assume that it has something to do with the earth itself"

* * *

><p>"Bertie! Andrew!"<p>

Bertie raised his head as he heard the voice of their younger sister ring through their small home. It was small but it served them well in the time they had it and they were loathe to let go of it now. He glanced up to the painting that hung above the mantelpiece. It was of their mother and father, Gloria was in the robes of her priesthood and Theodred was clad in the armour that had become so familiar to them. He nodded, he felt that their parents would be proud of them.

"In here," he replied as Andrew looked up from the paper he was reading and Aretha rushed into the room, leaning on the door frame to catch her breath. It was clear she had run home from work today.

"You saw us this morning," Bertie smiled with amusement before handing her his cup of water and she sipped at it greedily before she gave her brother a look.

"Not funny,"

"Then what's gotten you so flustered?" Andrew asked more willing to entertain their sisters views.

"King Wrynn had an audience earlier. I was making my rounds when I saw him," she looked as giddy as a schoolgirl and it would not have been the first time she had been called ditzy.

"Saw who?" Bertie asked a little skeptical of what her reply was going to be.

"Father. I saw Daddy. His face was the same as far as I could tell behind the strappings he wore, his hair was exactly how father kept his hair even with that lock that I always used to push back as a child... he even wore the same armour that Daddy wore when he left for Northrend,"

"Our father's dead, Aretha. He died in Northrend" Bertie sighed and she glared at him as she moved across the short space of ground between them. He blinked, it was rare that his sister got angry or upset.

"I know what I saw. What if it is him?" she asked, her eyes searching those of her brother's. She could hear Andrew placing his paper down and getting up to join them. "His... his body was never found! They told us he was dead but they couldn't find the body. How can you prove him dead, brother? How?"

"And this fellow you saw, was he Forsaken then?" Andrew asked warily.

"Well, yes,"

"Then you know where his loyalty lies. All Forsaken rather die than be captured in relation to revealing secrets. Good riddance too," he replied and Aretha threw her hands in the air.

"By the light!" she gave up for a moment and left them to it as she went for a walk, wondering what she should do about who she had seen. The armour was the same and so was the stubborn lock of hair that she had seen falling on his pale withered forehead. It was just too coincidental but perhaps she was just seeing what she wanted to see. How often had she wanted one more moment with her father? How often had she wished to see him again? To know what had happened to him to stop him coming home.

She sighed and hugged her frame, praying to the light for an answer but no answer seemed to come to her.

* * *

><p>"Khaiyrah and Shayle, my Lord," the guard at the door announced and Varian glanced up as he saw two female Draenei enter the room. One bore lighter hair than the other with curved horns that swept backwards whereas the other had darker hair with horns that jutted outwards slightly. He nodded to them and they moved over to join them at the table.<p>

"I have been talking to Rok'thar of the Earthen Ring. I am unsure if you three are acquainted,"

"Rok'thar and I have met briefly in the past back on Outland, your Majesty," Shayle replied, inclining her head as Khaiyrah simply blinked and sat down.

"And what have you both felt of the elements lately?"

"They are troubled by something far greater than of ourselves," Khaiyrah replied, "They will not always oblige our wishes and they have begun to react more violently lately. Before, the odd fire started by a fire elemental out of mischief and boredom was few and far between and mostly because of inexperienced shamans. Now, they seem to want the world to burn as if to cleanse what is ailing them."

"Orgrimmar has experienced the same sort of outbreaks. I fear that in the chaos of whatever is driving this, it will consume Orgrimmar. It could mean the same for Stormwind, or other Horde and Alliance strongholds," the orc female grunted as she looked to the shaman she had not met yet as Varian Wrynn considered their words before nodding slightly.

"Question is then, what are we to do about it?" he asked sighing deeply.

"I know Thrall," Rok'thar began and Shayle seemed in the mood to finish.

"He is not of this world, Rok'thar. He is born from those who came from Draenor. Nagrand is his ancestral home."

"Yes, and Outland has seen this upset from the elements before. They would listen to him if he chose to go them for help. I will suggest it to him if he is not considering it already,"

Their dinner did not take long for them to finish and it was made a little easier since the two Forsaken were not taking part in the food though they did drink occasionally from the wine goblets offered to them beforehand. It was unclear as what effect alcohol had on Forsaken systems. For death knights, it seemed to be just used as a fuel and didn't seem to affect their judgement. Varian's lips thinned as his eyes set on Sokaron, the Forsaken male seemed to be deep in his own thoughts and looked to be brooding.

"Remind you of some one?" Jaina asked, smiling to him as she followed the King's gaze.

"I've never known a Forsaken to exhibit signs of what they really feel. He's screaming his loud and clear," Varian replied, his voice low as to not draw attention to the fact he was talking about the man at the same table.

"I was just talking to Faranor. Apparently, Sokaron is regaining memories of his human life. Faranor wishes to know if they may be allowed to see if they could find his family to help stop the flashbacks. I find it all very fascinating," Jaina replied softly and Varian looked at her harshly.

"And the public would react very kindly to that, Jaina. They're scourge,"

"No, they're not scourge, Varian. They are men forced with a decision to make. The Alliance would not accept them and they had to make allegiances in order to survive. I'm not saying all of them are good fellows but at the same time, it was not their fault what was done to them. It's a shame the public do not realise it. Perhaps I could handle it? And I'm sure Anduin could use some more experience handling politics."

"Perhaps. I'm still tempted to take them prisoner,"

"And what would that prove, Varian? They came with Fordring's blessing and they willing relinquished their weapons. I'm sure, as a fellow warrior, you understand how Sokaron must be feeling to that point, hm?"

"I hate it when you have a point, Jaina," he grumbled and she smiled as they finished dinner and it was agreed that the Horde members would have pardon to stay in the city but they would remain under constant escort. Rok'thar was surprisingly gracious of them all for an orc and she had gone with Shayle and Khaiyrah to discuss more about what was happening with the elements. Jonathan had seemed all too giddy about the idea and more than once did Faranor and Sokaron tell him to shut up.

Greymane and the others excused themselves and left the warrior and paladin with Varian, Anduin and Jaina. Varian rose from his seat and moved to the window to calm his frustrations and dislike at having Horde in the same room with him.

"It's clear that you have another mission for coming here," Jaina announced looking between Sokaron and Faranor.

Sokaron scowled and glared at Faranor, "You told her?"

Faranor didn't bat an eyelid as he stared the Forsaken back in return, "Sokaron, if these memories, for I certain that is what they are, continue to come to you more and more as they have been doing... you may become distracted and die for it. You, yourself, admitted they came to you during usual waking hours. From what I remember of reading through human history in the events, Lordaeron fell and those who had survived the onslaught left for the last great human stronghold left open to them. It's highly possible that the sons and daughter you had from your human life came here."

"Yes, Stormwind accepted all the refugees that had managed to escape. A record of names would be in the city archives," Varian muttered from where he stood.

"Do you remember your human name?" Jaina asked softly and Sokaron looked at her for a moment before wordlesly adjusting the straps that held his jaw and skull together.

"Theodred comes up a lot... I don't recall a last name,"

"Perhaps if we were to instil another memory to come forth. Perhaps your subconcsious would tell it for us to hear,"

"Possibly," Sokaron relunctantly agreed before remembering the scroll he had yet to give to her. He retrieved it and handed it to her.

"What's this?" she asked as she took it and and broke the seal.

"I was told to hand it to you," he answered vaguely noting Varian was watching in his silence as Jaina read the contents. To her credit, she gave no outward reaction to Thrall's handwriting that had been painstakingly learned in Durnholde. She nodded and put it away into a small bag attached to her belt.

"Relax, Sokaron... this may twinge a little," she said softly before she began to chant under her breath. Sokaron watched her, almost transfixed and was starting to doubt her before his mind besieged him once again and he grew quite still as the memory took over and whilst Theodred experienced it through himself, Jaina seemed to watch from the sidelines completely unaffected by the cold reaches of Northrend.

"_I have never known such bitter coldness, Theo," _

_The voice belonged to Darren and often just referred to the warrior by the four-lettered name. Theodred smiled in return as he rubbed his chest a little to combat the cold. Darren was doing the same thing as were most of the men in their camp. He could still hear the bleats and brays of the shoveltusk nearby and wondered at how they could bear to be out frolicking in the snow. _

"_Hell, Dun Morogh isn't this cold," Darren continued._

"_Dun Morogh isn't this close to the north pole, Darren. You know that or did you skip that day of school?"_

"_Very funny, Theo. Oh dear, here comes trouble," the boy muttered and Theodred glanced up to see Falric stalking past them. Theodred got to his feet and cleared his throat._

"_Any news as to what's going on, Sir?" he asked and the man paused mid-stride and looked back at him._

"_No, Marshall. Arthas has yet to return. Sit tight, it'll be over eventually, nay?" Falric smiled before carrying on his way leaving Theodred Marshall to stare after him wondering at what that was supposed to mean. He sighed, his breath rising in the air as he sat back down in front of the crackling fire that was only just keeping them warm against the cold. None of them wanted to entertain the prospect of getting frostbite._

Sokaron snapped back into reality and this time the memory seemed to have a greater effect on him as he slumped forward, narrowly avoiding a wine glass as he went. Faranor helped him up and Sokaron would have blinked but for the lack of eyelids. Jaina smiled and took his skeletal hands with no fear knowing Anduin was watching with silent but boyish interest and curiosity.

"Your name before your undeath was Theodred Marshall. We shall check the archives to see if any Marshall's were entered into the books."

Anduin piped up, "One of the priests that makes her rounds here, her last name is Marshall!" he told them and blinked as Sokaron looked at him.

Faranor seemed to brighten up at the news glad they were getting somewhere with this, "Well, that's definitely worth looking into. Would it be permitted for Sokaron to meet them if they're found?"

Varian pinched his nose feeling a headache coming on, "Only if there is proof of their relation to him," he sighed knowing better than most that losing a member of your family, let alone more than one, and not remembering them was somewhat devastating. He had experienced that for himself and even though Sokaron was Forsaken and a reminder of everything that Arthas had stood for, the man did have the right to see them again one last time in the very least. He was sure that the family of Marshall's were wondering at what had happened to their father..


	12. The Golden Keg

_A/N: Hello there! I apologise for my tardiness and this was just sitting ready for being uploaded and I never got around to it! Here it is!_

**The Golden Keg**

The bells tolled in the brisk morning breeze in Stormwind the next day after the Horde party had arrived in the vast human, stone-built city. Gossip was already thick in the streets and some even saw glimpses of them as they went through different parts of the city under escort of four Stormwind City Guards. It seemed that whispers flew like birds on the wing and Sokaron had to glare at Jonathan's constant musings, which of course, were out loud all the time. They had been given a room at a local inn and it seemed Jonathan was enjoying himself to no end. But then, what Forsaken ever got the chance to get into Stormwind much less get Royal Pardon and a roof over their heads? Jonathan had wanted to explore the city but both Sokaron and Faranor had advised against it for the moment.

"Humanity is just starting to recover from the threat of Arthas and his scourge, Jonathan. I do not think it wise to rub it in their faces, especially if they have lost someone out in Northrend. They would more likely take your head than shake your hand. Where you get these crazy ideas, I do not know!"

Faranor, of course, had given the polite and political answer whereas Sokaron had just huffed and glared at his fellow undead with a simple, "Stay here or I will take your head for them," spoken in a harsh, unmoving grunt before standing by the window and watched the bustling crowd below. Jonathan had groaned and eventually settled for falling back on the childish action of sticking his tongue out at the warrior when the man wasn't looking with only a reproachful stare from the blood elf. The paladin settled into an armchair, filling it completely, finding it most comfortable despite its human construction, before there was a gentle knock on the door that was almost wasn't heard if it wasn't for Kara's wary bark.

"Come in!" Jonathan answered brightly, or as brightly as a husky Forsaken voice could possibly reach. The door opened with a soft creek hinting that the hinges were in want of oiling. A figure clad in a light and delicately embroidered and quite clearly enchanted robe entered and she shut the door behind her before she lowered her hood.

"I would have just teleported but that seemed a bit much for just a stone's throw," Jaina smiled, seeming to be entirely used to being around members of an opposing faction. Faranor had no doubts that without Jaina to temper him, Varian would be something unleashed in his reactions to matters he did not want to entertain.

"Lady Proudmoore," Faranor inclined his head with respect and she nodded with a smile before she leant her staff against the wall and hung up her cloak. "What do we owe this honour?"

Jaina smiled before her eyes turned on the silent warrior by the window, after all it was he she had come to see and not the rest, "We have had a look in the city manifest, Sokaron."

Sokaron took one final longing gaze over the crowd's heads before he turned to face the mage, still unsure about whether he wanted to meet his 'long lost' family or not. What would it prove? He could not stay here and expect to be just accepted. In fact, he knew he had no place inside a human fortification. He was a reminder for everyone of all what undeath was and he did not want to be that reminder. It had ruined his life as it had for other Forsaken in his place. Besides, if the human race would never accept his presence here, why should his family when he could barely remember them at all?

"We found the Marshall's in the books and they settled even once the war was over. Gloria Marshall, a holy Priest and your wife, died a few years before the war ended but she made sure your daughter and two sons were well cared for. "

He could tell the other two were watching him with curiosity and even Kara rose from where she lay and moved over to the warrior before leaning against him. He looked at the diseased wolf and saw the reassurance freely offered. He never really gave much thought to how animals seemed to react to pure and simple emotion. He put his hand to the wolf's forehead and stroked back the ratty fur and Kara pushed into the touch with simple affection and comfort. It brought more feeling to him than he had anticipated, perhaps there was hope for him yet.

"What of them?" he asked quietly, still undecided and feigned to show some interest.

"Andrew, your oldest, is a blacksmith in the Dwarven District and Bertie is in training to join the city guard," she replied with a soft smile and Sokaron looked at at her for a long moment before nodding.

"There's also the girl. What of the girl?"

Jaina smiled softly as she moved next to him and he stood back a little, a touch uncomfortable around one so important, "Aretha is a priest right here at the Cathedral. She is very good at what she does, you should be proud of her. And of your sons. Aretha often speaks about you, though she was very young when you left for Northrend. Or so I am told,"

Sokaron was silent, his head dipped in long thought as he tried to wrap his mind around all of this. The political events were mind quenching anyway but his personal fiasco... it was almost too much to take on. He looked back at Jaina expecting to find some prejudice, some thought of disappointment but there was only reassurance and kindness.

"Sokaron... what happened to you, what was done to you and the Forsaken was nobody's fault apart from those who made you. High Priestess Laurene tells me that she has discussed this many times with Aretha and I am certain in my own heart she would very much like to meet you. I'm not so sure about her brothers but I think seeing you would fill the hole in her heart and the hole in yours,"

"Holes? I know nothing of holes... I know nothing of them, about them. I don't remember them, not entirely. Why would they want to know me?" he retorted feeling angry for reasons he wasn't even sure at right now. He always found it easy to bring forth the anger and resentment that feuled his rage but he knew this was not the right time to lose his head,"I am Forsaken! Why do none of you get that?"

"Because Sokaron, not every Forsaken has the chance to see their living past, to be reunited with those that would see them regardless of what had happened" Faranor put in and Jaina nodded as he continued. "I'm sure, given the chance, Jonathan would jump at the offer. But they don't and most learn to accept that. Some can't, and you know what happens to them as well I do, Sokaron. I think for this one time, follow your heart and not what rules or regulations tell you to follow. This is your family. You should give them some closure at least, you owe yours sons and daughter that much. It's not something that happens all the time,"

Sokaron looked at the Blood Elf, still uncertain before he sat down on the ledge of the windowsill. Faranor glanced at Jonathan who pulled a face before the stooped fellow moved towards his fellow undead and sat down too.

"I'd jump at the chance. Fara ain't wrong, slick,"  
>"Why do you care?"<br>"Why do you think I'm such a chatterbox most of the time? For kicks? Is that why you think I am the way I am?"  
>"You're the happy type," Sokaron answered lamely.<p>

"Sure, but I'm glass half empty inside, knucklebrains. I'm so chatty to get by, to survive, to unleash myself a bit at a time in manageable amounts. I have no family, they were killed in the war. I was lost too like you are now for a time but I realised that I couldn't continue an empty a shell. Sokaron, if you go back to the Undercity the way you are now, you'll destroy yourself out of guilt and regret. You'll be of no use to anyone, not even the Dark Lady. Is that what you want? She'll throw you away just as fast. See them, deal with it now whilst you still have that chance. I doubt his Highness would grant you access a second time,"

"I..."  
>"Don't 'I' me. Go. See them. Take the chance I was denied. What every unlucky Forsaken was denied. Hell, Sokaron... I bet even Sylvanas would want that chance before the end deep inside,"<p>

"Sokaron, your family needs you. They need the chance to face their past and so do you. Don't do something you'll later come to regret, my friend," Faranor spoke, his voice hitting through the warrior's head with a deep resonance. So deep it brought up another memory and he brought a gnarled hand to his face in answer to a sharp pain that ran deeper than he realised.

_There had never been much time to correspond back home and never ample time to send mail out to those in the field. No one had understood that better than Theodred and clearly so had Aretha and his sons. Gloria wrote to him too, their correspondence was always neatly wrapped in the same packet of parchment in order of the eldest. He read them that way too. Gloria's words were always heart-warming, always took him back to their tender loving moments regardless of whether it had just been out for a stroll or lying on what they had affectionately called Spider Hill staring up at the stars. The snow fell about him but he ignored the cold brutality attacking his skin as his eyes followed the delicately written letters that was Gloria's hand writing before he reached the untidy scrawl of one son, the slightly more readable text of his second eldest and then the untidy but readable loops of Aretha's hand. He smiled as he read her words despite the numerous spelling errors, which was to be expected. He found it had a pure and innocent quality about it that he knew would be drummed out of her as soon as she went through schooling. _

"_Hey Daddy... I miss you. When are you coming home? Bert, Andrew... they don't stop arguiing all the time. I think they wan you bak but dun wanna amit it. Still have my jade horsey? I got one too, the same, I kiss it befor I go sleep every night. Love you Daddy! Aretha."_

_It was short and sweet but he read the worries and fears contain between the lines. Oh, how he wished he could forgo duty and honour sometimes and return home. But his loyalties as a warrior, as a soldier, as a man of his country meant he stayed here because he fought so others who were unable to fight or couldn't fight wouldn't have to. He sighed and looked on over the little ridge he had found for himself as he silently folded the parchment along its original fold lines and stuffed it into his armour. The crunch of a heavy tread alerted him that he wasn't alone and Darren sat beside him._

"_News back home?"  
><em>"_Family. They're doing all right,"  
><em>"_Miss them, huh?"  
><em>"_Darren... you do ask the most silly questions at times,"__  
><em>

Sokaron blinked and looked at Jaina and Faranor before looking back to Jonathan who nodded with reassurance. He would have sighed if he was capable of breathing and rose from his seat and looked at Jaina. "All right, I'll meet them. Where and when?"

"To the point, aren't you?"  
>"That's Sokaron for you," Jonathan piped and Sokaron looked at him, frowning.<br>"Shut up," Jonathan laughed and lifted his bony hands.

"Well, I will speak to them, see if they all want to see you and I'll get back to you,"

"Thanks. Can I go take a walk?" it felt unusual for some reason to be asking permission but then again he was hardly in a free country here. Jaina smiled before she nodded.  
>"I'll let the guard know. Just head downstairs and talk with him when you're ready. "<p>

With that, Jaina excused herself, collected her things and left by the door as the rest stood there in relative silence. Faranor was glad and relieved that his new friend had finally accepted the prolonged hints. He knew if it was not dealt with, then the mind would never heal and the rest would decay into nothingness. He found himself knowing he did not want that for the warrior of whom he now considered a friend.

Time passed and Sokaron went downstairs only to find the Paladin that he remembered to be called Sarathir in his path. Sokaron briefly paused before joining him.

"You're to be my escort, I suppose?"  
>"Yes," the man replied, "I volunteered. No one else was willing,"<br>"I guess I had that coming... "  
>"People are still trying to get over the fact you're even here. Pains them that you're currently under Wyrnn's protection... it doesn't sit well,"<br>"I understand, but I have no quarrel in my interests,"

"I know. You're here because of orders and because you have a reputation," Sarathir smiled and nodded as he moved and opened the door of the building, gesturing for the Forsaken warrior to go through. Sokaron watched him for a moment before he did so, casting his gaze out on the streets of the Dwarven District. Sarathir joined him as a few people going about their business stopped to gaze at him before carrying on as if worried the Forsaken might try something.

"You know of me," It wasn't a question, it had been stated and he wasn't referring to their earlier meeting.  
>"Yes. I know of you. Have for a while. Didn't figure on meeting you in the ah, flesh though," the man shrugged. "Well, let me take you on a tour. Stormwind's a fine place,"<br>"If it's all the same, I wouldn't mind going to the docks,"  
>"Sure,"<p>

And they headed off through the channels of Stormwind, in the directions of the Docks and shipyard. Sokaron had to admit, Stormwind rivalled Orgrimmar and reminded him strongly of the Undercity, the ruins of Lordaeron. He knew or felt that at one time the ruins had been a mightier place over Stormwind but now it was no more than an empty shell of its prior majesty. Stormwind was grand in all its twists and turns, Varian's people had fought well for their home.

"How's Lordaeron these days?"  
>"Silent, still and old,"<br>"Ah... yes, the Forsaken live beneath it now don't they, in the dungeons,"  
>"Yes. I don't go there much,"<br>"Oh, why's that?"

Sokaron uncharacteristically just shrugged, he found this conversation a little on the dull side but then he wasn't the chatterbox like Jonathan was. He just didn't know what to say or what was worth saying. Particularly to the living.

"Reminder of your past life?" Sarathir asked softly but Sokaron could not detect anything of malice in the Paladin's tone so he tilted his head in inclination, his hands reaching to fix the straps around his skull once again. He often tired of having to adjust it so much and he suspected the leather had worn too far to hold everything in place by now. He would have to see a leather-worker about that though he doubted any in Stormwind would be willing to fix it for him without being ordered to.

"I often wonder what life would be like if we hadn't defeated Arthas... If he hadn't been defeated by our people's heroes then I'm not sure how we would have managed,"  
>"You would have,"<br>"How can you sound so sure?"

"What else can you do but fight and survive? What other choice is left to you? Death has only so many roads," Sokaron returned, some undead warriors in the war had been unfortunate to have received undeath many times over and each time it had happened, they had become even more of empty cases. Their minds too broken and undone to withstand the torture.

"I suppose you are right,"

"I am not sure what I am right on any more... for your kind, death is certain now. Mine," he shrugged that off as they descended down the stone stairway that lead to dock level. Sokaron could smell the saltiness in the air as the sun evaporated the waters of the surrounding ocean that went as far as the eye could see and beyond. It was not long after that before they were stood on the end of one of the four piers that stood as gateways to various other lands. So much ocean and so much danger lurking in the shadow and it still managed to take him to the first time he had ever set foot on a ship or reached the ocean.

"Do you remember Northrend?" Sarathir asked after several minutes of silence.

"I... I have had several flashbacks since the Dark Lady asked me to clear out undead lingering around Agamand Hills." As he spoke, he brought out the jade figurine he had found in one of the houses, what had once been his house and his daughter's room. He turned it in his gnarled fingers oblivious to the watching eyes of the human paladin next to him.

Sarathir was unused to being so close to the undead outside of Northrend. On the frozen continent, there had been no sides. They kept a mutual distance from each with the exception of Winterspring where the hatred between factions had been finally forced into physical form. Course the events of the Wrathgate had not helped relations, with both accusing the other of yet more deceit and assault but without the mutual and temporary alliance, the defeat of King Terenas's son Arthas, it would have been for nothing. Sarathir had been there holding and pushing the lines, he was aware of what had happened and that even King Wrynn had honoured Saurfang.

But he had no particular friendships with the Forsaken and here he was standing next to one of their warriors. A warrior who had followed orders to enter his enemy's greatest fortress for another mission that entailed working together. Something he knew would never sit well on either side, he knew there would be many on both sides that would oppose the motion with such ferocity.

"I remember Darren, the ships being burned, Arthas leaving with Muradin to find some sword only to return without the Dwarf," his hate rose but the Forsaken had reason to hate, to seethe... Arthas had stolen death from them, not just their lives. "I remember the cold, the bellowing of shoveltusks and going off to find help when Arthas and Thassarian failed to return,"

"I don't remember much else than my death being violent and that I am a fine blacksmith," the jade figurine stilled in his palm, the light of the sun glinting off the worn edges.

"Who made that?"  
>"My daughter. Aretha."<p>

It felt strange to be talking like this, as if they good friends but he wanted his head to stop sending these flashbacks and for that to happen, he had to trust that Faranor was right.

"She was my first flashback, lifting her and twirling her around. She was laughing like nothing else mattered in the world. Like she was some bubble of sunshine that refused to be put out," he said before pausing, "I don't remember the last time I laughed," he finished, staring into the waters as they stood by the edge of one of the piers. He saw a shark swim lazily by and he smiled softly, a shark could move very swiftly precisely when it wished to.

Sarathir's heart went out to the man, he could not imagine life without his family. Sokaron had clearly paid the price for ensuring his family's survival and he supposed that was the main thing but through that, Sokaron had missed out on so much. He felt privileged to see things from the other side. After all, it wasn't this man's fault what had happened to him and it could have easily happened to any of the living that had fought that war.

"You're worried she has forgotten you, that your sons have forgotten you?"  
>There was a long and awkward pause, "Yes."<br>"I don't think that's the case, Sokaron,"  
>"What makes you say that?"<br>"I, too, have a daughter. I am away from the family home quite a lot doing my duty as a Paladin often requires. I'm always worried she'll have forgotten me or hate me leaving when I return."  
>"And?"<br>"Tabitha always finds a way to remind me how lucky I am to be her father. By the light, I doubt very much that Aretha and yours sons have forgotten you. It sounds to me that Aretha is a strong part of you, that she has remained a glint of hope, happiness and light in your soul. Forgive me if I am wrong but that does not seem usual for most Forsaken, does it?"

Sokaron glanced at him, "And that's not including Jonathan?"  
>"Are you kidding? That man is several trees short of a forest,"<br>"You are not wrong. Most don't remember and they don't really care to."

"Well, there you go," Sarathir replied firmly with a knowing smile as he tucked blonde hair behind his ears. He was due for a haircut soon but had yet to get round to it. "You've been through a lot and you've done your duty. I don't think that Warchief Thrall would mind you spending some time with your family. I think they would appreciate knowing what happened to you during the war of Northrend, it would provide them some closure,"

"I am feeling emotions that I don't understand. I don't see how..."

"They are a part of you. I see that, as does Jaina, Faranor... I think even King Wrynn himself saw that in you when the request was made. We fight so our families don't have to. You don't have to go alone, me or Faranor can come with you,"

"Thank you"  
>"You're welcome,"<br>"I guess we should be getting back,"  
>"Probably... do Forsaken drink?"<br>"Like..."  
>"You know, taverns, "<br>"Oh, yes though it doesn't affect us like it does with the living..."  
>"It doesn't matter. You should come join me and my friends later. Faranor and Jonathan are welcome too. You've met one of my friends earlier...the Draenei, Shayle..."<p>

"I remember but I'm not sure it's a good idea"  
>They turned back for the inn, "Nonsense. We've all fought in Northrend, made and lost friends on both sides. Any one who tries anything will get a Sam in their face,"<p>

"A Sam...?" he asked, not sure he entirely wanted to know.  
>"Heh, yeah... you'll know when you see him," Sarathir laughed heartily, "We call him Rageface for a reason."<p>

Initially, Sokaron had not really understood what Sarathir had meant by 'Rageface' but then it had been some time since he last mingled in human company to understand the fine tunings of their sense of humour. His had turned rather dark. It was only when they had gotten to where they were drinking that he cottoned on as they walked in to a single voice bellowing loud enough to make the lamp shades vibrate and tingle in reaction.

"By the Light, he's just as loud as Craddock," Faranor said fleetingly, blinking at the sight before them. Sarathir clearly understood what the blood elf had meant since he laughed but it was completely lost on the two Forsaken who shared equally confused glances.

Sarathir smiled, "That," he said lengthily, "is Sam, otherwise known as..."

"Rageface, I getcha. Kinda catchy, like a dog's name you know," Jonathan piped up with a twisted grin to his dead features causing him to get a fews stares. He shrugged at this pretty used to such reactions. Kara nipped him before running off to lie down in front of the hearth, curling up and enjoying the heat which only served to bring them attention from everyone else.

Upon reflection later on that day, Sokaron realised that glaring at the one called Sam with a cold stare might not have been the best policy but he could have hardly helped the instant reaction. Clearly, the human had missed the memo that morning lost in the abundence of things that were more important. The human had quite flamboyantly yelled at him and he found himself against a wall with what Sokaron termed as a rather weak dirk set to his throat. He looked back at the lanky human with a look that clearly stated he was waiting to be impressed.

"Sam, you might want to release him,"  
>"But you know what he is"<br>"I don't care mate, he's under the King's protection, so you know what that means."

The response was slow but he eventually let up his hold. Sokaron had to reset his straps on his face again much to his annoyance, "Why are they here anyway?" Sam muttered with disgust he did not attempt to hide.

"Political crap that's more important than the both of us, I believe was the gist," Sokaron muttered back, still trying to get his straps to hold. In the end Faranor rolled his eyes, huffed that it would take forever for him to do it by himself and ended up fixing the leather straps whilst commenting that they had ridiculously small fastenings and that the leather was all worn. Sokaron batted him away once they were fixed.

There was a silence as the information of what the warrior had said sunk in before Jonathan blindly interupted, "So, you promised us a drink, didn't you, pally?" Jonathan had a very annoying way of speaking and it clearly didn't bother him in the slightest.

"You invited 'them' here? For a drink?"  
>"Oh calm it, Sam. If the King let them into Stormwind without taking their heads, then they have to be of something of merit. Besides, those two were human once,"<br>"But he wasn't, isn't," Sam spat, pointing a finger at the elf accusingly but Sokaron just stood in his way.

"If you can't say anything nice, say it outside. It's that simple. We don't intend to stay longer than is warranted but whilst we're here, under the King's protection, you might want to remember a little courtesy. I seem to recall it's one of the human's traits, I could be wrong. Your friend invited us for a drink and since being in a box with that chatterbox all day bores me, we accepted. You want to argue us being here, you go natter at someone else. Mean while, I'm buying," Sokaron stated darkly and without so much as being concerned for Sam's reaction, pushed past him for the bar to a staring woman who seemed at a loss as to what to say to the walking dead.

Faranor stared after the Forsaken and it was enough to render Jonathan silent for a change, "Well, that was unexpected," Faranor breathed.  
>"What were you expecting?" Sarathir replied.<p>

"Oh, violence usually comes somewhere into that. I believe he's buying first round, so where are you all sat hm?" the paladin smiled and they all moved to a table in one corner. They were soon joined by Shayle, a Draenei of all the strangers recognised.

"What did I miss?" she said, looking between them as she got settled though was clearly watching Jonathan and Faranor with a watchful eye. A good many were.

"Oh not much, Sam raging at something and the little spat at Sokaron, "  
>"I still don't get why you had to invite them here," Sam put in before Sokaron returned with a tray which he slid on to the surface without much preamble.<br>"Oh, beer! It's been years!" Jonathan cried happily and snatched up one of the tankards.

"I take it he's easily impressed?" Shayle said after the moments silence that had followed as Jonathan steadily drank from his tankard, the dark liquid escaping the vessel. Faranor nodded with some distaste.

"It doesn't usually take much. You give him shinies and he's all yours,"  
>"I rather you kept him," she replied before joining in on taking one of the tankards of beer.<p>

Faranor smirked, "Pity."


End file.
